


seven years (and then some): the end

by lovelyjanelle13



Series: seven years (and then some) [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Battle of Hogwarts, F/F, F/M, Gen, Gryffindor/Slytherin Inter-House Relationships, Hogwarts First Year, M/M, Multi, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Slytherin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:01:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 74,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27725185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyjanelle13/pseuds/lovelyjanelle13
Summary: Mallyn Smyth received her invitation to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on July 1st, 1989, along with a new pair of jeans and diamond studs, the latter two from her Muggle grandmother. Since receiving the letter and accepting the truth of what she is, she has been dreading attending a school that she knows next to nothing about and where she knows no one. She quickly finds out that almost everyone else seems to know more and refuses to let her in on the big secret. The only thing that seems to put her at ease comes in the form of redheaded twins and her notebook, which is not a diary, but a notebook that she just happens to write about her days and feelings in.Mallyn Smyth arrives on Platform Nine & Three Quarters after finding out she was a Witch only less than a year prior, despite her mother stemming from the Noble House of Black and the equally revered Burke family tree.Story will follow from September 1, 1989 to the Battle of Hogwarts as well as the aftermath as the Wizarding World fights to be the great community they once claimed to be, this time intent on making the words true.
Relationships: Angelina Johnson/Fred Weasley, Angelina Johnson/George Weasley, Cedric Diggory/Original Female Character(s), Cho Chang/Cedric Diggory, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Original Female Character(s), Fred Weasley & George Weasley, Fred Weasley/Original Female Character(s), Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/George Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Lee Jordan/George Weasley, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: seven years (and then some) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2194074
Comments: 13
Kudos: 12





	1. notes & info

General Notes:

Some of my favorite songs will be used as within the story as originals but will be credited in post story mentions at the very end

Wands are not required or needed to perform magic, but help channel the energy to be better executed, especially in delicate spells including healing.

trigger warnings (tw)/content warnings (cw): explicit descriptions of death, violence, knives, torture, abduction, blood, abuse (physical, emotional, and sexual), sex (penetration, oral, fingering, and masturbation) and sexual situations, pregnancy, swearing, alcohol & drugs, marriage, weddings, as well as potentially triggering comments and actions made by characters in regards to gender, sex, race, religion, social status, abelism, self harm (eating disorders, over exercising, scars, self deprecation, substance abuse), rape, cheating, guns, the Holocaust, incest within the Wizarding World families, age gaps in platonic and romantic relationships

Chapters with material (specifically smut and graphic violence) unsuitable for anyone under the legal age will have an * by the chapter title

This is a Fix It Fic

There will be no trip to Paris

Plot lines from the movies and books will be included, tweaked, expanded upon, and completely ignored. 

General Notes of Hogwarts:

Letters from Hogwarts for first years student sent to students on July 1st of each summer which they can accept or decline if they opt for one of the other magic schools in the world or be homeschooled, whereas letters for other years are sent out on August 1st

September 1st each year is when they go to King's Cross Station

Students are expected to arrive King's Cross Station* through the secret entrance prior to 11 a.m. when the Hogwarts Express leaves to bring students to Hogsmeade Station where they arrive after the 7-8 hour ride *for students who don't live in London, they apparate to King's Cross Station or meet their fellow classmates at the Hogsmeade Station

Second through Seventh years ride horseless carriages up to the castle pulled by creatures called Thestrals, winged horse-like creatures that are invisible to anyone who have not personally witnessed someone's death, while first years cross the Black Lake in magically enchanted boats with the Keeper of Keys and Grounds, Rubeus Hagrid, or another suitable teacher if they are absent

Once at Hogwarts, Deputy Headmistress/Master talks to the first years prior to the first years and any transfers are sorted, the hat sings it's song which varies from year to year, the Headmaster gives a speech, then the Welcoming Feast begins, and once it's over students are escorted back to their dorms by their Prefects as the Head Girls & Boys perform their duties of roaming the halls

Each house has four Prefects (two boys and two girls) selected in their fifth year and they continue to serve for their sixth year and seventh if not chosen for either Head Girl or Boy, and they must wear their designation pins at all times

Each house has two Heads (one boy and one girl) selected in their seventh year

Classes start the closest school day following arrival

Required materials such as books, cauldrons, and other items except uniforms and wands are available at the school or can be purchased if students wish

Uniforms are required during school days, consisting of standard white button down or a dickie, grey or black sweaters, grey or black dress pants, for the male students, or skirts with knee socks for the female students, black shoes of any sort, and a tie of the students house, as well as standard black cloak, hair is up to students as well as makeup (courtesy of people like Tonks because it’d be discrimination along with piercings because of religious and cultural beliefs)

Quidditch Teams has seven players: one seeker, one keeper, two beaters, and three chasers; students are eligible for team starting second year but as reserve members unless team needs to be filled, third and up are eligible for main roster with no limitations 

Academic Quidditch games can last a max of four hours and professional games can last up to twenty four hours split between two days

Starting in their third year, students may go to Hogsmeade on supervised visits with parents written permission and seventh year students are allowed to visit any time they do not have class as long as they are passing all their classes

Pets that are allowed: cats, frogs, snakes, rats, toads, ferrets, owls, and rabbits

1983 Starting Class: Connar Acevedo (OC) Noah Alcott (OC) Orion Amari (CC) Lara Arjan (OC) Cing Armitage (OC) Milana Barr (OC) Donald Bauer (OC) Nicolle Boyer (OC) Aleah Buckner (OC) Saul Castro (OC) Brennan Doyle (CC) Katrina Downes (OC) Kirley Duke (CC) Bodhi Finnegan (OC) Jaden Fischer (OC) Sasha Gill (OC) Lacey-May Harmon (OC) Liya Leigh (OC) Douglas Leonard (OC) Kody Mackie (OC) Pippa Macmillan (CC) Christophe Maude (OC) Thomas Mcloughlin (OC) Kamala Milner (OC) Lila Painter (OC) Milton Parsons (OC) Jennifer Pearson (OC) Brigid Quill (OC) Erika Rath (CC) Emma Reynolds (OC) Ezra Rivers (OC) Saarah Roman (OC) Anthony Sonny (OC) Lily Mae Stubbs (OC) Ashley Tate (OC) Aine Walsh (OC) Jocelyn Webb (OC) William Weasley (CC)

1984 Starting Class: Badeea Ali (CC) Alanza Alves (CC) Diego Caplan (CC) Ben Copper (CC) Andre Egwu (CC) Spring Fernandez (OC) Zakk Goldman (OC) Penny Haywood (CC) Brandon Heath (CC/OC) Ayush Huffman (OC) Tulip Karasu (CC) Rowan Khanna (CC) Jae Kim (CC) Barnaby Lee (CC) Chiara Lobosca (CC) Ismelda Murk (CC) Kit Pearson (OC) Merula Snyde (CC) Nymphadora Tonks (CC) Peter Yardley (OC) Goyle Watters (OC) Nathalie Wilders (OC) Talbott Winger (CC) Charlie Weasley (CC) Cara Zelley (OC) Thorin Zouch (CC/OC)

1985 Starting Class: Jonas Calhoun (OC) Andrew Chambers (CC/OC) Ameilia Emsworth (OC) Page Engel (OC) Landon Fawcett (OC) Eliza Fischer (CC/OC) Ayers Goulding (OC) Pamela Jonson (OC) Bradley Lin (CC/OC) Henrietta Milne (OC) David Ripley (OC) Cairbre Roberts (OC) Astrid Studds (OC) Abrahm Tate (OC) Marley Thomm (CC/OC) Duke Turner (OC) Hannah Wakefield (OC) Alec Williamson (OC) Caitlan Whyte (OC)

1986 Starting Class: Ame Barclay (OC) Momina Bishop (OC) Hayley Booth (OC) Maxwell Cardenas (OC) Thatcher Cobb (OC) Kendal Daniel (OC) Kent Durham (OC) Sarah Fallon (OC) Elton Goody (OC) Tripp Keene (OC) Richard Livingstone (OC) Randolph Burrow (CC) Issac Middleton (OC) Leighton Nibley (OC) Kelsey Paxton (OC) Rosemarie Solis (OC) Fuller Thurlow (OC) Maysa Wharton (OC) Bruce Wise (OC) Lewis Zimmermann (OC)

1987 Starting Class: Tamsin Applebee (CC) Randolph Burrow (CC) Penelope Clearwater (CC) Sean Copper (OC) Herbert Fleet (CC) Marcus Flint (CC) Taylor Gillespie (OC) Leslie Haworth (OC) Terence Higgs (CC) Duncan Inglebee (CC) Alisha Justice (OC) Heidi Macavoy (CC) Simone McGowan (OC) Willem Pinker (OC) Malcolm Preece (CC) Jeremy Stretton (CC) Orsino Thruston (CC) Percy Weasley(CC) Beatrice Winter (OC) Oliver Wood (CC)

1988 Starting Class: Mallorn Atkins (OC) Lucian Bole (CC) Marian Boyce (OC) Kellan Black (OC) Myla Castsor (OC) Herbert Cummings (OC) Peregrine Derrick (CC) Elora Dunn (CC) Louie Edge (OC) Ainsley Farrington (OC) Sullivan Fawley (CC)Lorcan Hanna (OC) Beatrice Haywood (CC) Mickelle Lake (OC) Grant Page (CC) Indus Pocket (OC) Klaudia Prentice (OC) Rachelle Pugh (OC) Sian Sampson (OC) Toby Sherman (OC) Marley Sweeney (OC) Marcus Turner (CC) Cara Yaxley (OC) Colton Yillow (OC) Alexis Wilkes (OC)

1989 Starting Class: Pomona Brooks (OC) Lusidia Cresent (OC) Roger Davies (CC) Cedric Diggory (CC) Fauna Etchemendy (OC) Flora Etchemendy (OC) Elfrida Helga (OC) Iris Huang (OC) Angelina Johnson (CC) Lee Jordan (CC) Susan Loxias (OC) Tyson Mayberry (OC) Theophilus McKinnom (OC) Adrian Pucey (CC) Mallyn Smyth (MC&OC) Alicia Spinnet (CC) Kenneth Towler (CC) Cassius Warrington (CC) Fred Weasley (CC) George Weasley (CC)

1990 Starting Class: Katie Bell (CC) Marcus Belby (CC) Miles Bletchley (CC) Patric Cadwallader (CC/OC) Eddie Carmichael (CC) Cho Chang (CC) Damon Cohen (OC) Ritchie Coote (CC) Fergus Cowley (CC) Marietta Edgecombe (CC) Lynx Elwood (OC) Stella Fawcett (CC/OC) Emilia Forresting (OC) Cormac McLaggen (CC) Michael McManus (CC) Willa Miller (OC) Graham Montague (CC) Maxine O'Flaherty (CC) Adam Pickering (CC) Jason Samuels (CC) Leanne Sheridan (CC/OC) Wells Stebbins (CC/OC) Imogen Stretton (CC) Patricia Stimpson (CC) Anthony Rickett (CC) Vincent Vaisey (CC/OC)

1991 Starting Class: Hannah Abbott (CC) Susan Bones (CC) Terry Boot (CC) Mandy Brocklehurst (CC) Lavender Brown (CC) Millicent Bulstrode (CC) Michael Corner (CC) Stephen Cornfoot (CC) Vincent Crabbe (CC) Tracey Davis (CC) Fay Dunbar (CC) Kevin Entwhistle (CC) Justin Finch-Fletchley (CC) Seamus Finnigan (CC) Anthony Goldstein (CC) Gregory Goyle (CC) Hermione Granger (CC) Daphne Greengrass (CC) Wayne Hopkins (CC) Megan Jones (CC) Sue Li (CC) Neville Longbottom (CC) Isobel MacDougal (CC) Ernest Macmillan (CC) Draco Malfoy (CC) Roger Malone (CC) Kellah Max (CC) Lily Moon (CC) Theodore Nott (CC) Pansy Parkinson (CC) Padma Patil (CC) Parvati Patil (CC) Sally-Anne Perks (CC) Harry Potter (CC) Willam Pox (CC) Oliver Rivers (CC) Sophie Roper (CC) Sally Smith (CC) Dean Thomas (CC) Lisa Turpin (CC) Ron Weasley (CC) Blaise Zabini (CC)

1992 Starting Class: Uchi Akimbo (CC) Diane Carter (CC) Tara Collins (OC) Colin Creevey (CC) Hayley Daniel (OC) Morga Draper (OC) Nile Grey (OC) Jardel Guevara (OC) Dario Holland (OC) Andrew Kirke (CC) Xander Lofthouse (CC) Luna Lovegood (CC) Scarlett Lympsham (CC) Safiyah Mckeown (OC) Rosemarie Nicholls (OC) Abigail Potts (OC) Harper Prince (CC/OC) Demelza Robins (CC) Jamie Robinson (OC) Zacharias Smith (CC) Elanora Smyth (OC) Matty Summerby (CC/OC) Brune Urquhart (OC) Ginerva Weasley (CC) Conor Wheatley (OC)

1993 Starting Class: Avery Allman (OC) Jem Berg (OC) Melinda Bobbin (CC) Liberty Chadwick (OC) Taio Clarke (OC) Erna Dalby (OC) Katharine Emery (OC) Derek Fawley (CC/OC) Jordan Floyd (OC) Deen Gaines (OC) Astoria Greengrass (CC) Maynard Hatton (CC) Jude Hilton (OC) Laurence Hutchings (OC) Ardala Knapp (OC) Leslie Knights (OC) Karis Marsh (OC) Annie Mellows (OC) Timothy Morcott (CC) Irfan Mustaq (CC) Tracey Nettlebed (CC) Justeene O'Sullivan (OC) Penelope Padgett (CC) Marvin Parolles (OC) Kristina Petty (OC) Joey Phillips (OC) Morgan Pillai (OC) Johhn Riddling (OC) Posy Salter (OC) Jack Sloper (CC) Lina Tande (CC) Romilda Vane (CC) Sebastian Wells (OC)

1994 Starting Class: Stewart Ackerley (CC) Teresa Audley (OC) Malcolm Baddock (CC) Myra Bassett (OC) Eleanor Branstone (CC) Martin Britaine (OC) Owen Cauldwell (CC) Eesa Clarkson (OC) Dennis Creevey (CC) Simon Dedworth (CC) Emma Dobbs (CC) Celine Edge (OC) Charles Ferrell (OC) Vicky Frobisher (CC) Geoffrey Hooper (CC) Lovis Howie (OC) Zima Krueger (OC) Laura Madley (CC) Natalie McDonald (CC) Garyn Millner Agnes Monkleigh (CC) (OC) Ruby Morales (OC) Shawn Morris (CC) Jimmy Peakes (CC) Graham Pritchard (CC) Orla Quirke (CC) Devon Rich (OC) Kevia Rogders (OC) Jannalee Smith (OC) Morton Troilus (OC) Kevin Whitby (CC) Ella Wilkins (CC) Nigel Wolpert (CC) 

1995 Starting Class: Euan Abercrombie (CC) Prue Armstrong (OC) Marnie Atkinson (OC) Kiyan Benitez (OC) Divine Butler (OC) Neelam Carty (OC) Albert Chan (OC) Dana Diggle (OC) Grim Fawley (CC) Ibbie Hope (OC) Esme Horne (OC) Peter Jones (CC) Mel Li (OC) Thomas McGruder (CC) Samira Melton (OC) Reo Oconnell (OC) Freddy Owens (OC) Hajra Pemberton (OC) Gordon Pummell (CC) Helina Rowle (OC) Zaynah Shannon (OC) Alex Sykes (CC) Vikram Thakur (CC) Maximillian Thomas (OC) Miller Yaxley (OC) Vincent York (OC) Maliha Walls (OC) Murat Workman (OC) Rose Zeller (CC)

1996 Starting Class: Cally Arias (OC) Tylor Ashton (OC) Elias Beasley (OC) Eliot Berry (OC) Katherine Bulstrode (OC) Lukas Cain (OC) Flora Carrow (CC) Hestia Carrow (CC) Meredith Gilbert (OC) Niles Hanley (CC) Dora Heaton (OC) Darla Johns (OC) Ezra Lara (OC) Holden Ledbury (CC) Storm Lennon (OC) Kishan Mcarthur (OC) Alya Mcclure (OC) Cordel Mercado (OC) Daryl Morden (CC) Kelsey Preston (OC) Bastien Queensbury (CC) Alys Robin (CC/OC) Junpei Suruga (CC) Erica Thorpe (OC) Kit Wyatt (OC) Chaim Zimerman (OC)


	2. one

Mallyn clutches the letter in her hand, something she’s done so many times since receiving it almost a year ago. When it arrived on the first of July, the parchment had been stiff to the touch, but now it’s like fabric beneath her fingertips from the excessive unfolding and refolding, not to mention the wringing then smoothing. Her mother’s hand comes to rest on her shoulder, gently combing her fingers through Mallyn’s thick dark brown hair, twirling the end around her fingers before letting it fall to lie against her back. “You are going to have so much fun,” she reassures her, bending down to place a kiss onto the crown of her daughter’s head.

“I don’t want to go,” Mallyn responds. She spins around and wraps her arms around her mother’s waist, interlocking her fingers behind her back to prevent her mother from shaking her loose. The letter floats to the ground, landing on the top of her father’s loafers. “I want to stay,” she cries into the fabric of her mother’s dress. Mallyn leans back, looking up at her mother. “You can teach me,” she pleads, tears now dripping down her cheeks. 

Her mother gently extracts herself from her daughter’s grip, bending down to be eye level with the teary eyed preteen. She brushes her thumbs under her eyes, drying them then leaning forward and placing a kiss on each eyelid. “Honey, we’ve discussed this, I have a job, an important one, and I promise you are going to love Hogwarts so much, some of my best memories were made there,” she whispers, continuing to console her eldest daughter. 

“What about Ellie?” Mallyn whimpers, leaning away from her mother to look at her little sister, her left hand still tightly secured in their father’s right. Ellie offers her sniffling sister a big smile, trying her best not to cry herself.

Lorah combs her fingers through Mallyn’s hair again, stopping to rest her palms on either side of her face, cradling her small face within the confines of her hands. “She is right behind you, she only has to wait three years,” Lorah says, stroking her cheeks, “just think of how much you'll be able to help her, by the time she gets there you’ll know all the ropes.”

Mallyn’s lip quivers as she fights back tears. “I’m gonna miss you,” she whimpers.

“We’re only a letter away, and you’ll be back home for Christmas before you know it,” her father promises, reaching out with his free hand to her. Mallyn accepts it, letting him pull her out of her mother’s embrace and into his, Ellie wrapping her short arms around both. Their mother joins in, wrapping her arms around the trio. 

The train’s whistle sounds off, a warning of its impending departure. Mallyn glances over and sees a large family, composed of a mother and father, along with seven children, all with varying shades of red hair, the shortest of the five boys with hair almost identical to his mothers, the two sharing the most vibrant hue of the bunch, but within all nine heads of ginger hair the golden streaks within reflect in the sun shining in through the windows at the top of the secret tunnel within King’s Cross Railway Station. 

Mallyn can’t imagine being in a family that large, she is perfectly content with the size of hers. Ellie is around when she wants her to be and off in her own world when she wants to be, dinner together most nights, but always breakfast in the morning at eight am sharp. Who would she be eating breakfast with tomorrow? What house would she be sorted into? Of the four, she’s hoping for Ravenclaw to follow her mother’s footsteps, but other than that her mother didn’t speak about the actual sorting process, just repeating each time Mallyn asked that it would all be explained once they arrived. Mallyn squeezes tighter and holds on for a few more seconds before extracting herself from the embrace. She crouches down to pick her letter off the ground. She carefully folds it and places it in the back pocket of her jeans. Taking a deep breath, she stands up and picks her carry-on bag up with her. She looks around, the rest of her luggage along with the trolley they’d been on has seemingly magically disappeared. She looks to her mother, who just nods her head, urging her to go while tightly squeezing her husband’s hand. 

“I love you,” Mallyn states before putting on a brave face and squaring her shoulders. She turns around, putting her back to her family so that they can’t see the way her lip quivers as she moves towards the train. She continues forward, extending her ticket to the man standing by the door. He punches it, then hands it back to her. Mallyn boards the train, wandering down the aisle. She selects an empty compartment and sets her bag on the bench, sitting between it and the windows, her hands falling to her lap. She knows if she looks out and sees her family, she’ll race back down the aisle and back to them, so instead she stares at the brick wall, creating a pattern within the cement between bricks.

Chatter filters in through the open window in the door, students conversing with each other as they pass, exchanging stories of their summer vacations and hopes for the new school year. She turns her head just enough to be able to watch out of the corner of her eye, watching her future classmates as they move past her compartment. The eleven o’clock bell rings, the train’s whistle echoing throughout the King’s Cross Station’s Nine and Three Fourths Platform. 

Mallyn turns her head just in time to see her parents and sister pass by the window as the train departs. She lifts her hand to wave, but pauses as passing students obstruct her view. They pass, but more continue, until several bodies stop just shy of the door. She looks up and recognizes them as three of the redheads that she saw earlier on the platform. Two are identical and appear to be about her age, albeit taller than her, but she’s always been shorter than most kids her age. The other looks a bit older, but not by much, and he has the same light copper hair, except his sticks up with the assist of hair gel, while the twins have horribly cut bangs that stop about two inches above their eyebrows, as if they did it in the dark, except that they match perfectly. It makes her wonder if it was a mistake of one that the other dutifully followed.

Fred hits his older brother on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Perfect Percy,” he hums, wrapping his arms around Percy’s neck.

“You’ll be a Prefect in no time,” George says, sticking his hand into his older brother’s hair and ruffling it. Percy shakes free of his younger brothers, trying his best to comb his hair after the mess his brother made of it.

“Follow in big brothers’ footsteps,” Fred says in a condescending tone.

“Head Boy after that, I’m sure,” George adds.

Percy stops, his younger brothers slamming into his back. He whips his head around. “Are you going to keep this up? You’re twins, not a married couple, you don’t need to finish each other’s sentences.”

Both twins plaster on smiles, the one they use to get out of trouble while being right in the middle of it. “But it annoys you,” George says, setting his hand on Percy’s shoulder.

“So we shall,” Fred finishes, following his twin’s suit and setting his hand on Percy’s other shoulder. Mallyn laughs, accidentally drawing their attention. “Hey,” he says, poking his head through the open window.

“Hi,” Mallyn returns, still smiling at the interaction she had just witnessed, her earlier judgement of a large family slipping from her mind. 

His twin leans over his older brother’s shoulder, “Mind if we join you?” he asks.

“Sure,” she says. The closest one slides the door open and enters, the other two trailing in behind him, the oldest of the three closing the door behind them. Mallyn takes her bag off the seat and moves to set it on the floor, but Fred takes it from her hand, placing it in the compartment suspending from the ceiling of the compartment. Once their own bags are secure in the overhead storage, they all take a seat, George sitting next to her with Fred and Percy on the bench across from them.

“Percy Ignatius Weasley, Gryffindor,” he greets, his hand sticking out for her to shake.

She reaches out, internally laughing at his introduction, as if they were at the royal castle instead of a train on the way to boarding school. “Mallyn, Unsorted,” she returns, shaking his hand once out of courtesy.

Percy retracts his hand, casually brushing off imaginary dust on the front of his red and gold striped sweater with a large P in the center. 

“Ah, another first year, looks like we’re in this together, this is our first year too,” the twin across the aisle says, extending his hand. “I’m Fred, this is George,” he says, gesturing to his brother next to Mallyn. She shakes Fred’s hand, noticing a few healing scratches traveling up his arm, including one that looks to be a miniature outline of a bite mark. 

Mallyn shakes herself out of her trance, releasing she’s still holding his hand. She releases it, offering an awkward smile, but he doesn't show any sign of confusion, simply still smiling at her. “What’s a Prefect?” she asks, looking for anything to talk about.

Fred grins widely, showing off all his teeth, including the empty space on the right side of his mouth. “Official Hogwarts killjoys,” he answers.

“Or buzzkills, whichever suits you,” George answers, offering a secondary choice of words.

“Or party poopers,” Fred chimes in, poking Percy with his index fingers, playing out a silent beat into the fabric of his sleeve.

George laughs, leaning forward to connect his foot to his older brother’s shins. “Spoilsports.”

Percy pulls his shins away just in time to miss George’s kick. “Got any more synonyms in you?” Percy grumbles, scooting to the far side of the bench and out of reach from his brothers’ assaults. Percy turns, his eye focusing on the only non-redhead in the compartment. “What’s your blood status?” he questions, his eyes narrowing.

“Merlin, Percy,” Fred and George groan in unison.

“I don’t know,” she answers with her confusion evident on her face, not understanding why he’d want to know her blood type.

Percy ignores his brothers, straightening his posture and immediately going into his natural authoritative mode. “There’s Purebloods, like us,” he says, gesturing proudly to himself while side eyeing his brothers, “meaning our ancestors are wizards or witches, Halfbloods-”

Mallyn shakes her head, cutting him off. “I’m not sure, I mean my mom’s a Witch and my dad’s a Muggle,” she says, hesitating that she is using the right word. When none of them correct her, she continues, “but my mom’s dad, my maternal grandfather, he died when I was six, but he was a wizard.”

“Do you know his name, or your mother’s maiden name?” Percy questions, a notebook and self-inking quill now in hand.

“Percy, drop it, it doesn’t matter,” Fred says, groaning as he lets his head fall back.

Percy scoffs, “Not to you, but to those who actually take pride in their name,” he says, squaring his shoulders. It’s only been a few minutes, but Mallyn can tell that Percy is the odd one out in his family, evident in his need to appear better and the contrast in his clothes to his brothers’. Where his brothers’ clothes are wrinkled and well worn, Percy’s are pristine, even his khakis have an iron line down the front. Mallyn looks to the floor, smiling at Fred’s socks peeking out from under his jeans, one red and the other black with purple stripes.

George swats at his older brother, pushing him until his back hits the bench. “Ignore him, we do,” he says, the twins both releasing a laugh, before George continues, “there’s no definitive list anymore, every single bloodline is polluted as the purists like to call it, even Malfoys have married Halfbloods,” he says, as if she should know who the Malfoys are. 

“It’s just a bunch of boring wizard politics,” Fred adds, drawing Mallyn’s attention.

Mallyn lightly nods, going along with what he’s saying, looking to Fred for reassurance. Fred nods once, offering her a smile. Mallyn forces herself to tear her gaze from Fred, leaning back. She pulls her legs up and crosses them, leaning her back against the window, the glass cool against her back even through her thick sweater and her tank underneath it. “Do you think you’ll be in Gryffindor too?” she asks the twins, making sure to look at George.

“Of course, every single one of us has been so far, including both our parents,” George answers, nodding confidently.

Percy pipes in again, “Our mother was a Prewett before marrying-”

Fred shifts, mimicking Mallyn’s position, his back against the window. “Percy, shut up,” Fred grumbles, kicking Percy’s thigh. Percy scrambles to wipe off his pants, groaning at the dirt from Fred’s shoe.

“His last name, my grandfather’s was Burke, Herbert Burke,” Mallyn answers, realizing that Percy wasn’t going to let go until he got an answer.

Percy stops messing with his pants, his head snapping up at her words. “Really? Your mother is Valentina Burke?” he questions.

“No, her name is Lorah Smyth, well, Lorah Burke, but she took my father’s last name when they got married,” she says, the fact that he knows who her family is by name surprising her, but confused at the mixup with her mother’s first name.

He shakes his head, “Impossible, he had two sons and one daughter, Valentina,” Percy states, suspiciously eyeing her. He bypasses her completely, continuing on his rant. “You’re a Burke & a Black, not to mention-” Percy says, his eyes scanning the page his notebook is open to.

Mallyn snaps her head up, holding up her hand to examine her own skin, “I’m not-”

Fred shakes his head, “Not black, a Black,” he explains, pushing her hand down, “they’re one of the most noble and prominent Pureblood families,” he says, quoting the words he’s heard more times than he would like, most often out of Percy’s own mouth.

Mallyn turns her attention to Percy. “No, my grandfather married a Muggle,” she defends, the word still odd on her tongue. 

“He did, after his first wife, Belvina Black, a Pureblood, died,” he explains, watching her as she tries to process the information. 

George gasps, “Your uncles run Borgin & Burke’s,” he exclaims, his eyes wide in excitement.

Mallyn opens her mouth to ask, but Fred beats her to the punch. “It's a wizard antique shop, known for trafficking dark objects and artifacts,” Fred explains, watching her face shift from confusion to disappointment.

Mallyn shakes her head, “I’ve never met them, I didn’t even know mom had brothers,” she admits, her voice lowering as her mind races. What else is her mom keeping from her and how could she send her off to a world that she knows next to nothing about. “She didn’t even tell me I was a Witch until last year and I accidentally turned my sister's hair brown,” she murmurs, her face dropping.

“There’s two of you?” George questions, hoping to distract her from her mind.

Mallyn nods, “She’s four years younger,” she says, her words barely audible. 

Fred speaks up, “So is our sister, Ginny, and then there’s Ron who’s a year older than her,” he says, hoping that she’ll look at him, but her focus stays on the fabric of her jeans as she picks at them. He looks to George for help, silently asking what to do. He just shakes his head, their experience with girls severely limited to Ginny, who’s more like a boy than a girl having been raised with six of them. That’s something, something Fred knows he can talk about for a year, his family. “There’s seven of us kids in total, plus Mum and Da, Bill’s the oldest, he’s Head Boy for Gryffindor this year and then he’ll be gone, Charlie’s in his sixth year and a Gryffindor Prefect,” Fred says.

“God, my ears are still ringing from Mum’s scream when the letter arrived,” George chuckles.

“I’m in my third year at Hogwarts,” Percy interrupts, not wanting his brothers to speak to his accreditations, “I am top of my class, and will be a Prefect, no question, once I’m in my fifth year, then Head Boy in my seventh.”

“What’s it like?” she asks, looking up for the first time in minutes.

“Fantastic, as long-” he says, stopping when Fred kicks him in the ribs. “Fred!”

“Percy,” he warns, his eyes flitting to Mallyn. Percy starts to open his mouth again, his lips forming an o. Mallyn raises her eyebrows, silently questioning the odd interaction. 

“Do you have a pet?” George asks, drawing the attention away from his brothers. 

Mallyn looks at the boy in front of her, his brown eyes focusing on her. She shakes her head, some of her dark hair falling over her shoulder from the motion. “No, I’m allergic to cats, despise anything with scales,” she answers.

Fred pipes in, his laugh filling the compartment. “Don’t let our brother hear you say that, Charlie absolutely loves dragons,” he says, waving his hands. Little puffs of smoke appear, swirling around his head in the shape of miniature dragons. Mallyn watches in awe as they circle his head.

“Reckon he’d adopt them if he could,” his twin jokes, swatting the smoke away from his brother’s head, the dragon’s disappearing into thin air.

“More like marry them,” Fred corrects.

Percy huffs, crossing his arms against his chest. “You two are-“

“Horrendous?” Fred questions.

“Terrible?” George suggests.

“Heinous?” Mallyn offhandedly offers. Fred and George whip their heads around, smirking at her choice.

“I think we’re quite attractive,” Fred defends, “don’t even need a mirror to check,” he says, reaching out and slapping George on the arm.

Mallyn laughs genuinely, her concerns leaving her for a minute. “Not with those haircuts,” she says, cocking her eyebrow. Fred and George mock offense, dramatically placing their hands on their chests, scoffing at her. “And I said heinous, not hideous,” she clarifies as she looks back and forth between the two, missing Fred’s smile at her semi-compliment, her head tilting as she examines the two. “How do people go about telling you two apart?” she questions, her eyes still flitting from each of their faces. 

Fred shrugs, “They don’t, most of the time they don’t need to, they just address us at the same time.”

“Because sometimes I swear you’re conjoined instead of identical,” Percy grumbles, not even glancing up from the book in his hands. 

Mallyn peaks at the cover, the words in a foreign language she doesn’t recognize. “What if you end up in different houses?” she asks while narrowing her eyes, squinting at the text on the cover, the word intertwined with an infinity symbol created with rope.

“We won’t,” they answer together, fist bumping.

“That sure of your bravery?” Mallyn teases, looking up at Fred.

Fred scoffs, swinging his legs until his feet touch the floor then leans forward towards Mallyn. “Of course, we dealt with a rogue doxy all on our own just this summer,” he says, his pride evident in his tone and the smirk on his face. Mallyn smiles back at him, mentally adding doxy to her list of things to research about the Wizarding World.

Percy lowers his book, narrowing his eyes at his younger brother, “The only reason you two idiots could handle it was because it was dying, they can’t survive long in the heat,” he declares before promptly raising his book back up to cover his face.

George taps Mallyn’s knee, drawing her attention. “What house do you think you’ll be in? Are you a daring Gryffindor, or a kind Hufflepuff?” he questions, both his eyebrows raising and lowering, making her laugh.

“Or a cunning Slytherin, perhaps a creative Ravenclaw?” Fred asks, a thoughtful expression on his face.

Mallyn sits back, pursing her lips as she thinks. She doesn’t know much about the houses, or the point of them really. The school can’t be that big. She knows she won’t be in Gryffindor if the twins are any indication of who makes the cut, she’s too careful to ever be as outspoken as them. “I think I’d like being in Ravenclaw, like my mom,” she admits. Despite the obvious omissions on her mother’s part, she’s still Mallyn’s idol. 

“Your grandparents were both Slytherins, most of the family on your mother’s side are,” Percy says. Fred moves towards Percy, aiming to hit him again. And he considers himself the smart one when he can’t read the room, Fred thinks to himself.

Mallyn’s mouth twitches, weighing her words before letting them out. “That wouldn’t be too bad, I suppose, I am a good leader, and I guess I could be considered ambitious, I was the longest running class president at my school,” she says, closing her eyes and remembering her friends, friends that she’ll likely never see again, friends that won’t even know where she went. She wonders what her parents told her school; that she was suddenly attending a private school that no Muggle has ever heard of in the middle of Scotland. She forces her friends out of her mind, letting her thoughts drift to the back like all the questions about her family. 

She opens her eyes, George’s face right in front of hers, his finger right in front of her forehead. He quickly retracts it, fear in his eyes. She realizes now that he’s close, his eyes are a warm honey brown, not dark brown like she’d thought prior, there’s even flecks of green scattered within them. “Sorry, thought you fell asleep,” he murmurs as he sinks back into his seat.

“Just thinking, I know I won’t be put into Hufflepuff, one of their main traits is honesty and it’s not that I lie or like to, but there are times when it’s best,” she says, losing her train of thought as the view out the window past George catches her attention. She whips around, practically pressing her face to the window she’d been resting against. “Wow,” she says, blinking as if it’d make the magnificent view disappear. “The only time I’ve ever even come close to seeing something like this was when my family flew to America for my Uncle Austin’s wedding,” she murmurs, sitting up on her knees to pull the window open. 

“That explains your accent,” Percy says offhandedly.

Mallyn turns around, her hair whipping around in the wind. “I have a different accent than you? I’ve only lived here,” she says. She drops back into her seat and mouths words to see if it feels different. Fred follows suit, mouthing words along with her, as they watch each other, smiles breaking out on both of their faces. 

Percy doesn’t bother lowering his book. “But you’ve been influenced by your father’s,” he states, matter of factly.

“Percy, do you ever shut up? I swear if you didn’t have red hair and dad’s nose, you were adopted,” George argues, knocking Percy’s book out of his hands, the heavy book falling to the floor with a thump. Percy bites the bait George had dangled, engaging in a debate, a few insults reaching Mallyn’s ears. Her eyes widen, feeling like she’s hearing things she shouldn't be.

Fred taps her foot with his, gesturing to the window with a knock of his head. “If you think this view is something, wait until our first flying lesson,” he whispers.

She leans forward, “Flying?”

“Yeah, on brooms,” he says, animatedly nodding his head, but then he quickly leans back, trying to play cool. “We have some at home, just to mess around with, but by second year we’ll be on the starting Gryffindor Quidditch team so you can go ahead and place your bets now on us winning the House Cup every year until we graduate,” he states.

“If you graduate,” Percy mutters in between verbal jabs at George.

Fred whips his head, shoving his hand into Percy’s hair and pushing his head into the wood of the door. “Percy, don’t you have any friends?”

Percy sits up straight, combing his hair back down. “Yes, but Mum said to keep my eyes on you, I already warned the headmaster before the end of term last year,” Percy states, not looking at his brothers. He pulls on the hem of his sweater, smoothing out invisible wrinkles.

Fred ignores his older brother, completely turning his back to him, focusing solely on Mallyn. “Our dad has a flying car, an old Ford Anglia, blue like your eyes,” he says, looking right at her, and she can feel her cheeks getting hotter by the minute. “It doesn’t work right now, but it will by the time we get our licenses.”

Percy scoffs, closing his book and setting it to the side. “Father should just get rid of the piece of Muggle junk, there’s no need for flying cars, not with brooms, Apparating, Floo Powder,” Percy says, continuing to list off words that mean nothing to Mallyn, only barely following along on the lines that he’s still speaking about different ways to travel.

Mallyn leans over, keeping her eyes on Percy, heeding her mother’s lesson that it’s rude to blatantly ignore others. “It’s like he’s speaking a different language,” she whispers to Fred.

“Swear he is sometimes,” he replies, trying to hold back his laugh.

Mallyn looks over at Fred, his hand over his mouth to muffling his laugh. “Are all of you like this?” she questions, her eyes shining with wonder.

Fred leans closer to her, “Like what? And please consider carefully how you compare me to my idiot of a brother.”

She laughs, accidentally hitting her head against the window from the force of it, but George and Percy continue to ignore her, engaging in a lively debate full of terms she can’t even begin to comprehend. She reaches up cradling the back of her head. “So full of life, I mean it’s like all of you have ten different things going on in your heads at once all dying to come out,” she answers, turning to watch Fred’s reaction.

“Uh yeah, pretty much,” he laughs. He stares for a moment before gently pushing on her hand, telling her to lower her head. Once her head is low enough for him to see the back, he carefully peels away her hand, checking for blood or bump, her black ribbon accidently sliding off as he glides his hand through her hair. 

“All good?” she questions, tilting her head to look at him. He abruptly pulls his hand away, already missing the softness of her hair. 

Fred nods, handing her back her ribbon that had fallen off. She puts it in the front pocket of her jeans, to put back on later once she finds a mirror. “You got a way with words, I’m sure you’ll end up in Ravenclaw and you should definitely join Frog Choir, write a new song or two for them,” he says, smiling. 

“The frogs can sing?” she asks, her eyes widening.

Fred shakes his head, “No, they croak on tune and harmonize, students sing.”

Before she can question the concept anymore, there’s a light knock at the door. Both their heads whip up.

“Anything off the trolley, dears?” an older lady asks, her cheeks as pink as the material of her dress that’s poking out from under her white apron. 

Mallyn’s eyes widen for the umpteenth time this week as they have at every new piece of information about the Wizarding World. She stands up, leaning over the window and examining all the different types of candy spread over the top of her cart.

Fred leans over her, only now realizing that he’s at least a head taller than her. “Two chocolate frogs,” he says, tossing a coin onto the cart. He looks down at Mallyn, her wide blue eyes looking up at him. “Make that three,” he says, exchanging the coin he’d throw for a different colored one. Fred peels back the wrapping holding it out to Mallyn while George leans over her other shoulder, examining the candies. Bill had given each of them ten sickles as a welcome to Hogwarts present.

“It moved!” she exclaims, watching the person within the frame smile back at her.

“They’re enchanted to,” he says, looking at the person within the frame. One of the most famous wizards, Merlin himself, stares back at them. Well, not really himself, just a depiction of him. He reaches for the frog, letting it sit in his palm as it bounces around before falling still. Mallyn laughs, poking at the frog as if it would make it move again. He shakes his head, breaking off a leg for her to try. The sweet chocolate quickly melts on her tongue, tasting just like Muggle milk chocolate. It earns Fred another one of her smiles that he is quickly growing fond of.

Mallyn looks back at the cart, scanning the items quickly. “Are those jelly beans? Can I get a box? Sorry, I don’t really understand the money thing yet, I have these,” she says, holding out her hand with the coins her mother gave her before they’d left the house this morning.

“It’s just one of these, dear,” the lady says, smiling at Mallyn as she takes one of the coins. Mallyn closes her hands around the remaining coins while holding her box of jellybeans in her other. Mallyn returns to her seat, pulling her legs up onto the bench and crossing them over each other. She sets her coins on her knee, pushing them around and examining them.

Fred bumps into his brother, offering him half of one of his frogs. Percy accepts his hesitantly, eyeing his younger brother suspiciously. Fred knocks his head towards Mallyn, her head still down as she turns over a sickle. “Percy, if you please and I know you do, explain the money to her,” he says, speaking loud enough to catch Mallyn’s attention.

Percy reaches across the aisle, plucking the coins off of Mallyn’s leg, holding them out in his palm. “Wizarding currency in Great Britain consists of Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts, and they are gold, silver, and bronze, respectively,” he explains, pointing to each coin. “There are 17 Sickles in a Galleon, 29 Knuts in a Sickle, 493 Knuts in a Galleon and the current approximate value of a Galleon is roughly five pounds,” he states, Mallyn’s brain not retaining any of the information other than the names. Percy sighs, controlling his urge to roll his eyes. “The numbers around the edges represent a serial number belonging to the Goblin that cast the coin. Goblins control Gringotts, the Wizarding Bank in Diagon Alley,” he finishes, placing the coins back on her knee, balancing them on top of each other from smallest to largest.

“I went there when my mom took me school shopping,” Mallyn says, picking up the coins and inspecting them herself. She turns them over in her fingers a few times, getting a feel of the weight. She passes the smallest between her fingers, watching it disappear and reappear.

George and Fred lean closer, watching as she continues to move the coin. “What spell is that?” Fred whispers, looking at her, trying to figure out where her wand is hidden.

She shakes her head, the rest of her hair falling over her shoulders, now completely obscuring the top half of her sweater. “It’s Muggle magic, my dad’s an amateur magician,” she explains, lifting her hand up above their heads to show that it never truly disappears, just seems to. She tosses it in the air, catching it on the back of hand, then holds it out to Fred. He retrieves the coin from her hand, careful not to let his fingers linger. He places the coin between his index and middle finger, trying to move it just as she had, but it falls to the floor with a clink. He picks it up and tries again, and again, and again, until the coin rolls down the aisle and under the crack in the door. Fred scrabbles after it, pushing the door open as he chases the coin down the aisle, the movement of the train only propelling it further down. He lands on the floor with a thud, stretching out his hand and slapping it down over the coin, finally stopping its path.

“Fred,” a voice calls from above him.

“Aunt Muriel?” he questions, wishing that it would be instead of who he knows it to be. He looks up, meeting his older brother’s eyes. “Oh, you,” he mutters, rolling onto his back then getting up, the coin secure in his hand. He backtracks down the aisle, turning on his heel and sprinting back to the compartment. He slides in, closing the door shut behind him, “Code Gold,” he whispers, leaning backwards out the window to spot Charlie’s glare from the end of the hallway.

“Here come the Official Killjoys,” George hums listening as the footsteps get closer. A Slytherin Prefect walks by, her mouth slightly shifting into an almost unnoticeable frown of disgust. She passes by quickly, continuing down the aisle. A moment later, another redhead with freckles appears, the red and gold of his sweater harsh against his sunburnt skin. His hair is a shade darker than the boys in her compartment, a few strands escaping the string securing most of his hair at the base of his neck. “Hey, all three of you are still alive, not bad,” he teases, pushing Fred back into his seat and leaning against the frame of the window. He looks at Mallyn in the corner, “Charlie Weasley,” he states, his hand extending out to her. She shakes it gently then quickly retracts her hand placing it back in her lap. “Not giving you a hard time are they?”

“She’s a Burke and a Black,” Percy states unprompted.

Charlie sighs heavily, dragging his hands down his face. “Percy, let it go,” he says, emphasizing each syllable. “Bloodlines are old news, and don’t harass any other first years if you ever want to be a Prefect, I can rescind my recommendation," Charlie warns. Charlie cocks his left eyebrow, a silent dare for his little brother to continue. He knows there’s nothing that could make Percy risk losing the title he’s so fond of before he even has it. “How are you enjoying the ride so far?” Charlie asks, smiling at Mallyn.

“Hi,” she giggles, a dreamy look on her face as she stares up at Charlie.

“Oh no,” George and Fred mutter simultaneously. Their older brothers seem to always have this affect on the opposite sex, no matter the age.

Charlie chuckles, returning her greeting. “We should be arriving in about an hour, best change into your uniforms,” he says then waves goodbye to the compartment, continuing down the aisle to check on other students. Percy stands up for the first time since sitting down, reaching up above George’s head and removing his bag and carefully setting it down. He reaches up, grabbing his brothers’ and tosses them to them, knocking them back down into benches. He carefully hands Mallyn’s hers, offering her a small smile. She turns around, digging around in her bag, removing her freshly pressed uniform. She double checks that her wand is safely secure in the bag before zipping it.

Fred awkwardly coughs, shifting on his feet. “Do you want us to step out and guard the door?” he questions, glancing at the clothes in Mallyn’s hands. 

“No, I got it,” she says, pulling the white button down shirt and grey sweater over her head, then winding her arms under the sleeves and body, pulling out her white and pink star sweater from the bottom. She steps into the grey pleated skirt and pulls it up above the waistband of her jeans, tugging the jeans down from underneath until they rest around her calves.

“Whoa, how-” George stutters, watching as she sits down to take off her shoes in order to get her jeans completely off.

Mallyn looks up, “Muggle magic,” she whispers, winking at him.

“You would blow our Da’s mind,” Fred says as he pulls on his collared shirt, buttoning it up over his tee. He quickly pulls his standard grey Hogwarts sweater over it, pulling at it. He hates wearing button ups, and sweaters too for that matter. No one will ever be able to give him a good reason that uniforms are necessary. 

Mallyn pulls on her white knee high socks then gets to work on retying her black oxfords. She stands up and turns to the window to watch the view, keeping her back to the boys as they trade their pants for their grey pleated trousers. 

“Do our ties?” George asks, holding out three black Hogwarts ties to Percy. 

Mallyn turns around, finding her own tie missing from the stack of her clothes in her bag. She moves to stand next to Fred, silently waiting for Percy to fix their ties for them.

“Hold still,” Percy warns, lifting his wand. He waves it, all three ties wrapping themselves around their necks.

“Please remember I am not your brother and you do not hate me,” Mallyn says, a forced smile on her face, fear evident in her eyes. Percy rolls his eyes, doing Mallyn’s first, careful not to do it too tight, then doing both of his brothers’ ties in one go.

Fred and George cough, hunching over. “Merlin, you trying to choke us?” Fred questions, swinging his arms out to hit Percy in the legs, but he simply steps to the side. The train’s horn drowns out the insults flying from both sides of the compartment. 

Mallyn steps towards the window again, watching as the castle grows bigger with each passing second. Fred leans over Mallyn and undoes the lock on the window then sticks his head fully out the window. George climbs onto the bench, resting his hands on his brother’s shoulders. “This has to be a dream,” Mallyn whispers.

“No way, this is life,” George says, sticking his head out the window and howling.

Fred agrees, looking down at the dark brown hair laying against his chest. “The best kind,” he whispers. Percy groans, excusing himself from the compartment. George untangles himself, falling to the ground with a thump as the train screeches to a halt. Fred laughs while he reaches down, pulling his twin up. They stumble out of the compartment laughing, Mallyn trailing behind them, grabbing their robes as they leave.

They all pull on their robes, securing the single button to keep them in place. Mallyn reaches up, combing her fingers through her hair and pushing it behind her shoulders. Her right hand reaches up, her mouth dropping when she doesn't feel her ribbon. She reaches down, momentarily forgetting she had already traded her jeans for her skirt. “I must’ve left my ribbon in the room, I gotta go back and get it,” she says, backing up and accidentally stepping on someone’s toes. “Sorry,” she mumbles, stepping around them.

“I’ll get it,” Fred offers, rising up on his toes to see over the crowd. He weaves around them, stepping back into the compartment. The benches are empty and one of the train’s workers has their bags in hand. “Sorry, did you see a ribbon?” he asks. The worker nods, the ribbon floating out of his front pocket and into Fred’s hand. Fred stares at the thin material in his hand, stroking his thumb against the soft material, almost as soft as Mallyn’s hair. He wraps it around his hand, quickly weaving his way back through the crowd until he spots George’s hair.

Mallyn smiles when she sees him, “Find it?”

Fred opens his mouth to speak, still stroking the material. “No, sorry,” he says, tucking his hands into the left front pocket of his trousers, his cloak covering his arm.

“Thanks for looking for it,” she says, a small frown on her lips.

The crowd pushes them forward, right off the train and onto the Hogsmeade platform.

A whistle cuts through the chatter, the older students stepping aside while all the first years stand still, unsure of what to do. “First years with me! This way please, got to hurry, places to be, things to do, food to enjoy,” a loud voice roars. Rubeus Hagrid steps out from behind the pillar, his lantern extending past his body.

Mallyn’s mouth literally drops open, her eyes starting at his feet, ending about nine feet above the ground, just above the top of his bushy hair that seems to be extending in all directions. “Whoa, giants are real?”

Hagrid squats, finding the eyes of one of the shorter First Years. “Of course, but I’m only a quarter,” he reassures her, quirking an eyebrow.

“There’s bigger giants than you? Wow,” she says in awe, her head shaking from side to side. Fred laughs and bumps his elbow into her, drawing her out of her trance.

“Gotta love Muggleborn first years, everything’s fascinating to them,” an older student whispers, earning a few laughs from the crowd of students.

Mallyn blushes at the comment, not meaning to come across as naïve, but how can she be expected to just pretend this is all normal? The closest she’s come to a giant prior to this was the old man in her family’s building that had to duck to fit under the door frames. “Come on, this way to the boats, no more than four in each,” Hagrid declares, the lantern jiggling as he moves his hand, gesturing for them to follow him.

“Boats?” she questions, audibly gulping. 

Fred leans down, whispering just loud enough so that only she can hear. “No one’s ever drowned, pretty sure they’re enchanted not to tip,” he promises. She turns to him, offering an unsure smile. “Hey, if you fall, I’ll just jump in, seems like a nice night for a swim,” he jokes. She wants to laugh, but as they get closer, the smell of the lake water just makes her stomach twist into a knot. Once they reach the shoreline, Fred sticks his hand out, offering it to her. She places her hand in his, relying on him to stay upright as she steps into one of the seven wobbly boats. Chivalrous, she thinks to herself, another word her mother had used to describe Gryffindor. What were the other two? One of the others started with c, she knows that much. Courageous! They should make a song, it’d make it easier to remember. They’d said it earlier and now it seems to have escaped her mind. She glances behind her, George already in a boat, purposefully rocking it as a boy with skin so dark it fades into his hairline laughs along with him. Daring, she remembers, holding in a laugh. She takes a seat on the bench, trading Fred’s hand to clutch the sides of the boat. Mallyn slams her eyes shut, forcing herself to count her breaths. Last thing she needs is to be the girl who passes out on the boat ride over.

“Mallyn,” Fred whispers, blowing at her hair to make it move. Her nose scrunches up from the rush of air, twitching to try and soothe the itch she refuses to remove her hands to scratch.

“I don't like this, I don’t like this,” she laughs, mostly at herself. 

Fred leans forward, blowing on her nose purposefully this time to try and get her to scratch it. She wiggles it again, retaliating by blowing her tongue at him. “Hey, open your eyes,” he says, poking at her fingers.

“No, I’d prefer to see darkness instead of the light at the end of the tunnel,” she says, rapidly nodding her head.

“Mallyn, open your eyes,” he urges, poking and pulling at her the skin around her eyes.

She shakes her head, trying to push him off, but he continues. She opens her eyes just a crack, expecting to see him, but instead she’s met by Hogwarts silhouette. “Fred, sto-wow,” she sighs, the lights from the castle reflecting in her eyes. She can’t help the smile that grows on her face, and neither can Fred as he watches her experience the magic he’s taken for granted his whole life.


	3. two

Even as she stares up in awe, as soon as the boat reaches the shore, she’s scrambling over Fred and out of the tiny boat, plopping herself onto the damp sand. “Oh, thank goodness,” she exhales, digging her fingers into the sand.

Fred laughs as he climbs out of the boat, offering her a hand. “Hey, you only have to do it once more,” he says, as he pulls her up,

“What?” she questions, stumbling forward directly into Fred’s chest, their arms awkwardly bent between them, their hands still in each other’s. They shuffle away from each other, Fred backing up right into George, who shoves him back towards Mallyn. She steps out of the way just in time to avoid being run into or over.

“When we graduate, we ride it back across, symbolic and all that,” he explains, watching the relief wash over her face. Maybe seven years will be enough time to get over her fear of boats, or maybe open water, maybe both. “Hey, I’ll be right there by you then too, if you need me,” he says. She’s starting to think she’ll always need him if she has any intentions of making it through Hogwarts intact.

The remaining first years disembark the boats, along with Hagrid. They all stand around waiting, for what they’re not sure.

“I expected there to be more of us,” Mallyn whispers, surveying the group. She counts twenty, twenty one including Hagrid.

Fred nods, “Classes used to be bigger, Mum and Da’s was fifty one when they graduated,” he tells her.

“Come on, then,” a gravelly voice calls. A man comes around the corner, his hunched back surprisingly his most defining feature, over his scraggly hair and raggedy clothes. A grey long haired cat circles his feet, moving in between them.

Hagrid claps his large hands, drawing everyone’s attention with the almost thunderous echo. “This is Mr. Filch, Hogwarts’ very own caretaker,” Hagrid informs the group. He bends down, extending his hand to the cat, “and this beauty is Mrs. Norris,” he coos, scratching the top of her head. Filch grumbles something under his breath, causing Hagrid to straighten up, tucking his hands behind his back. “Right, here we go, other kids are chomping at the bit to eat,” he says, laughing at his own words. Hagrid follows after Filch who continues to talk to himself, muttering under his breath. Filch stops at two very large doors to the castle, standing aside to allow Hagrid to push on them. All the students look around as they travel down the massive hallway, a few gasping as the staircases above them move as they please. Hagrid comes to an abrupt stop at the bottom of a large staircase, bidding a quiet goodbye before excusing himself. Filch mutters something under his breath, not very nice if his tone is any indication. The first years look at each other, unsure of what they’re supposed to do, if they were supposed to follow one of them.

“What exactly are we waiting for?” George questions, peering around.

“Me, Mr. Weasley,” a voice states. Everyone turns around. Looking up to find a Witch is waiting, complete with the black pointy hat and robe. She claps her hands once, drawing everyone’s attention. “Welcome to Hogwarts,” she greets, “I am Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress.” She surveys the group, her eyes narrowing a few times. The twins can only assume a few of those are for them, Percy did say he warned the school. “In a few moments, you will pass through these doors here,” she states, pausing to gesture to the large double tempered glass doors behind her, “and join your classmates, but first, you must be sorted in your houses.” She looks around again, pausing on each student’s face, trying to see the faces of their parents in them. The Weasleys are the easiest, their hair and prolific amount of freckles are always the dead giveaway. The girl standing between the two twins shys away under her gaze, her eyes going anywhere but on Minerva. She spots Amos Diggory’s son in the back, recognizing him from a Ministry banquet last year. Another boy, fairly small, his face is reminiscent of his brother’s who graduated but only two years ago. Minerva stops, for her guesses will either be proven right or wrong in a matter of minutes. “For any who are still unaware, there is Gryffindor, my house and if you are placed there I will be the Head of House, along with the Transfiguration teacher here at Hogwarts, for those who get picked for Hufflepuff, your head of house is Professor Sprout, our own Herbology instructor, Slytherin will be under the watchful eye of our Potions Master Professor Snape, and last but not least, Ravenclaw, the head of house being Professor Flitwick who functions as both our Charms instructor as well as the director of the choir,” Minerva says, taking a deep breath. She keeps trying to convince Albus to update, simply print out the information, but he is nothing if not a traditionalist.

Fred nudges Mallyn at the mention of her mother’s house and choir. Minerva surveys the group once more, worry finding its way into her heart. “Hogwarts is one school, one student body, but your house will become your family, the people you rely on in your weakest moment which can cost your house points when rules are ignored and broken, but who will cheer you on in your greatest, where you can earn points that all will get added up at end of year to determine who wins the house cup,” she says, making sure to make eye contact with each student, making sure they heard her. “The sorting ceremony will begin in a minute, follow me,” she says, turning on her heel. She taps her wand against the seal between the two doors.

They creak open, revealing a well lit dining hall, candles hanging in the air. Mallyn looks up, watching as the ceiling changes to depict the movement of dark clouds as if they’re truly outside standing under the stars. She tears her eyes away just long enough to see two pale freckled hands extend behind the row of backs on their right, Fred and George slapping their two eldest brothers’ hands as they pass. Mallyn surveys the room, taking in the four long tables lining the immense hall, each table filled with students representing their houses. Minerva stops at the foot of the short set of stairs, turning to address the students. “Please welcome this year’s new students,” she says.

The room erupts in cheers and chants, each table speaking to the fact that they believe their house to be the best. Minerva quiets the room with a lowering of her hands. She takes a scroll from the bench on the platform, unrolling it. “Now when I call your name, please come up and take a seat, then I shall place the Sorting Hat on your head and you will be sorted into your house.”

Without thinking, Mallyn reaches out and takes Fred & George’s hands, whispering under her breath. She doesn’t know if God is real anymore or if he is, if he has any domain here, but after years in private Catholic school, she thinks she’ll always find comfort in praying. While her head is down, Fred and George exchange an odd glance, silently asking what’s occurring. They play along, bowing their heads while Minerva prepares to begin. She sees this out of the corner of her eye and knows the twins didn’t initiate it. That poor girl, any house but Hufflepuff is going to eat her alive, or at the very least attempt.

Minerva stops herself, reassuring herself that the past is not doomed to repeat itself and she has to trust that Albus’ plan will work, even if he refuses to share the exact details. “Pomona Brooks,” she reads, the list descending alphabetically. A tall blonde steps forward from the crowd, silently wringing her hands beneath the fabric of the sleeves of her robes. She carefully climbs the steps, taking a seat on the stool. Minerva lowers it to her head, letting the hat rest as it prepares for the first sorting of the year. It moves around, talking to the girl with words only she can hear. Minerva has always appreciated that aspect, that the hat allows the deliberation to stay between itself and the child, only it’s final decision audible for all to hear. “Hufflepuff!” the hat exclaims, shifting around excitedly.

Minerva removes the hat, holding it up in her right hand while her left hand holds the scroll. “Lucy Cresent,” she says. The girl steps forward, accidentally tripping over the extra material of her robe, but catching herself. She straightens up, swinging her heavy black hair behind her shoulders as she pulls up the robe, carefully ascending the steps to the stool.

Minerva places the hat down, barely touching the top of the head of the girl before declaring, “Slytherin!” The girl hops down, quickly exiting the platform and moving to the table next to Gryffindor.

“Roger Davies,” Minerva calls out. She suspects he’ll be in Ravenclaw, just like his elder brother, and not a minute later her belief is confirmed. She glances down at the scroll. Ah that’s his name, Cedric, Amos’s son, she thinks. “Cedric Diggory,” she announces. He offers her a polite hello before sitting on the stool.

The hat deliberates for a few minutes, obviously talking to the boy until it yells, “Hufflepuff!” With a smile, he walks off the stage, congratulations given in the form of pats on the back from his new family.

Minerva moves down the list, eyeing the next two names, another set of twins besides the red haired ones in the crowd. She glances up over the scroll, noticing the two identical girls in the back, down to their matching braided brunette pigtails. Minerva clears her throat, “Fauna Etchemendy,” she says, watching as the twin on the left steps forward. She hesitates for a moment, offering her twin a smile before unlacing their hands. She steps forward, quickly climbing the steps.

She sits down, looking up as the hat talks to her, nodding along with something it says. “Hufflepuff,” the sorting hat says, loud enough to be heard, but quieter than the others as if almost unsure, something extremely unlikely as the hat rarely goes back on it’s decisions, only admitting to a few mistakes over the centuries of sorting.

”Flora Etchemendy,” Minerva quickly reads. Minerva sighs, hoping for the best. It’s never easy when siblings are in separate houses, let alone twins, despite the founders’ origins. Flora steps forward, exchanging an uneasy glance with her sister as Fauna takes her seat at the Hufflepuff table.

Flora sits down, messing with the bottom of one of her braids while the hat talks to her. “Really?” she questions. She slaps her hand over her mouth after she realizes she accidentally spoke out loud instead of just thinking it.

“Ravenclaw!” the hat announces. Flora smiles, sliding off the stool and walking over to the Ravenclaw table.

George and Fred exchange a look, questioning how twins could end up in separate houses, neither able to imagine being separated from the other. Suddenly both start questioning if their lifelong ideas of both being Gryffindor are possibly about to come to a stop.

Minerva notices the Weasleys, all five of them, suddenly looking uneasy. She forces herself to look at the list, quickly counting the number of students until their turn. Like usual, they’re the last ones on the alphabetical list. “Elfy Helga,” she says. The girl that steps out of the crowd practically prances up to the stool.

The hat doesn’t even wait a full second before declaring, “Gryffindor!” With a smirk, she gets off the stool, striding over to the cheering Gryffindor table.

Minerva smiles behind the scroll at the new addition to her house. “Iris Huang,” she reads. The girl looks up, a look of surprise on her face as if she hadn’t expected her name to actually be called. She carefully approaches the stool, staring at it as if it might come to life along with the hat. Minerva nods, reassuring that it’s okay. Once the hat is on her head, her face relaxes, obviously finding comfort in the words.

“Hufflepuff,” the hat proudly announces, Iris smiling at the decision. She hops off the stool, gladly heading over to the table and picking one of the spare yellow and black scarves at the end of the table and slides it around her neck.

Minerva smiles at the girl’s immediate change in attitude, one that she completely understands. She remembers her own sorting ceremony well, especially the nerves she felt. “Angelina Johnson,” she calls. A girl, with her hair carefully pulled back into four equal plaits, steps forward. She holds her head high as she ascends the stairs, sitting down on the stool.

The hat deliberates for a moment, before loudly declaring it’s choice, “Gryffindor!”

Minerva watches as the girl walks over to the table, smiling as she reads the next name, “Lee Jordan.” The boy that had ridden the boat over with George moves forward, winking at Angelina, which earns him a scoff from her. As the sorting hat bellows Gryffindor, any trace of a smile on Angelina’s face drops. Lee strides over to the table, placing his right arm around Angelina’s shoulder. She promptly shrugs it off. Minerva has to stop herself from laughing. Seems the eight hour train ride over allowed for some feelings to develop, some obviously unrequited ones. “Susan Loxias,” she says.

A small blonde girl in the front steps forward, shrinking the remaining students group even more, once twenty, now ten remaining. Susan steps forward, sitting down with a smile on her lips. “Ravenclaw!” the hat announces for Susan and the following student, Tyson Mayberry, an averaging looking boy by all accounts except for the extremely large glasses resting on his nose.

Minerva reads, doubling checking that it is in fact a m at the end instead of a n. “Theo McKinnom,” she announces. A brown haired boy steps out from behind George. He turns around in surprise, not having realized anyone had been behind him. He wears a smile the whole time, through the hat’s entire deliberation, it’s announcement of Hufflepuff, to taking a seat at the table that is quickly growing full. It’s always the most populated house as it’s the most welcoming and least selective. Before Minerva can even finish his name, Adrian Pucey steps forward, his arrogance dripping off of him. He knows exactly what house he’s going to be put in and wants everyone else to know as well. “Slytherin,” he mouths along with the hat, the second before it touches his dark hair. He saunters off the stage while pulling his father’s Slytherin tie out of his pocket. Minerva forces herself not to roll her eyes and reminds herself that it’s not his fault, it’s just the way he’s been raised.

“Mallyn Smyth,” she calls, watching Adrian out of the corner of her eye. Mallyn exhales and refuses to look at her new friends, instead forcing herself to drop their hands. She wishes she could drag them up there with her. As she steps up, she can finally see the table at the back of the room, lined with adults, all in varying degrees of odd yet fitting attire. Mallyn takes a seat on the stool, scooting until she’s sure she won’t fall off. Fred reassures her with a hesitant smile.

Mallyn waits, unsure of the exact process of how her house is determined, but the last thing she expects is a voice besides her own to start rambling on in her head.  _ Ah, I remember your mother, Valentina Burke, how did her family take her marriage to the Muggle? _ the deep croaky voice says. Mallyn looks around, no one else seeming to be able to hear it.  _ Is this how it is with all of them? _ she wonders.  _ Yes, now answer my question, just think your answer, _ it instructs.  _ We don’t see them, _ she thinks, focusing on the question instead of spiraling on the fact that her mother had indeed had another name when she attended. The hat grunts,  _ their sort do tend to hold quite the grudge when someone defects _ , it says, grumbling something indiscernible.  _ I sense great potential in you, you’ll thrive _ , it says, stopping before it finishes its train of thought, suddenly derailed by one of hers.  _ I also sense you have a preference of Ravenclaw, but I do not see much of her in you, I see more of your grandmother _ , it states.  _ Really? _ she silently questions.  _ I wouldn’t know, she died before I was born and my mom doesn’t talk about her, well I mean, I guess any house I still can’t believe I’m here _ , Mallyn says.

“Slytherin!” it yells out. Mallyn forces herself not to show how she feels, keeping a small smile on her face instead of her disappointment. She slides off the stool, trying to ignore the way that Fred’s eyes stay on the ground as she moves past him.

She takes a seat in the empty spot at the end of the table. A tie is hesitantly slid across the table to her, the boy accessing her as she takes it. She holds on to it, not trading it for her Hogwarts tie just yet. She ignores the glares from behind her, spinning to face the front as the next girl takes her seat, but it's as if she’s suddenly trapped within a wind tunnel, only the words of the houses discernible over the rushing in her ears. Gryffindor. Gryffindor. Slytherin. She perks up at her house's name, suddenly a boy with dirty blonde hair and stunning green eyes is staring at her.

“Mallyn?” he questions, testing out the name in her mouth. She nods, paying more attention to the redhead moving up the stairs than Cassius. Fred takes a seat on the stool, his feet scraping against the floor. His eyes flit to Mallyn, quickly forcing them away. Cassius continues talking, quite animatedly, while monitoring his volume.

“Gryffindor!” the hat shouts. He’s been waiting for this day for years, and now he can’t find it in himself to be excited. He slides off the stool, giving his twin a pat on the back as he takes the empty seat next to Charlie, forcing a big smile onto his face. George is right behind him, the hat declaring Gryffindor only a few seconds after it touches his head.

At the end, after all is said and done, seven new Gryffindors, four new Slytherins, four new Ravenclaws, and five new Hufflepuffs. Minerva looks out, surveying the tables.

“What did the hat say to you, you had a funny look on your face,” George questions.

Fred shakes his head, “Made a remark about how many of us there are,” he says. It’s not technically a lie, but it’s the closest he’s come to lying to George and suddenly his stomach drops farther than already was. If it drops any more, he might as well be walking around with rocks in his shoes.

“Yeah, it and everyone else,” Bill mutters.

The hat begins to sing, Minerva rolling her eyes as it boasts about itself. She glares at it, urging it to move onto the founders and the houses. Albus still has to make his speech before the food can be served. The hat sings louder, trying to outdo the students chatting amongst themselves. The hat ends its song, holding out a loud note that makes several students cover their ears as an attempt to lessen the pain.

At the front of a room, a man with a white beard, almost as long, perhaps just as long as Mallyn’s hair stands up. He touches the tip of his wand to the side of his neck then clears his throat to ensure it’s working. “Welcome students, new and old, what a pleasure to have you all here this fine year,” he greets, smiling out at the crowd of young faces. “If you do not know, or perhaps need a refresher after the long months apart, I am your Headmaster Albus Dumbledore,” he says, looking around. He sighs deeply, “With a heavy heart, I do have to announce that from this moment until further notice, all Hogsmeade trips, as well as any other event requiring to go off campus has been canceled as a former student of the Mahoutokoro School of Magic who was expelled for practicing the Dark Arts has escaped from the Ministry of Magic before he was able to be sent to Azkaban, now he has not been sighted near the school as of yet, but I assure you this measure is just due diligence,” he states. “To make up for this disappointment, the Halloween Ball has officially been reinstated as of this year for all third years and up,” he says, smiling as the students erupt in cheers. The Halloween Ball was always a student favorite, loving the excuse to dress up and have fun. Minerva lowers her hands to quiet the students, knowing what announcement is coming next. “One final announcement,” Albus says, clearing his throat, “please help me in welcoming the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Rakepick,” Albus instructs, a woman with hair as vibrant as her cherry red lipstick, as if the makeup got it’s pigment from a strand of it, and her eyes as blue as the color of the glass eye dangling on a chain from her ear visible from even the back corner of the room stands up and gives a slight wave as students and teachers politely clap, “who some of the older students might recognize her from roaming around last year as she sought to assist with the Cursed Vaults and has so kindly offered to step up as Professor Mullins is unable to return for this year to fulfill the post.” Albus looks around, waiting for the clapping to stop, allowing his mind to wander for only a moment until Minerva clears her throat next to him, drawing his attention back to the present. “Professor Rakepick has asked me to remind everyone to be careful and not to venture near any of the Cursed Vaults as Jacob Heath still has not been seen since he disappeared ten years ago shortly after his expulsion and is presumed dead due to one of the many curses guarding the secrets within.” Albus forces the bad memory to the back of his mind, instead focusing on all the potential of this year, as is his tradition every year. “Now, as much has been lost, there is so much very more to celebrate,” Albus says as he raises hands and the food appears, cheers erupting from the crowd. “Let the nineteen eighty nine, nineteen ninety school year begin,” he declares, clapping his hands once. The candles lower, fully lighting the room as platters of food descend to the table, every type of food available.

Mallyn reaches forward, selecting a single pastry, whipping cream practically falling off of the fluffy circle, holding it up and inspecting it. She’s not sure how much she trusts food that magically appears. Looking around, she sees every other student indulging in the food in front of them.

The girl next to her, her hair red, but not like any the Weasleys’, more brown than gold and it compliments her dark brown eyes in a way that almost seems rehearsed, purposely bumps her elbow into Mallyn’s arm. “It doesn’t bite,” she teases, nudging Mallyn’s arm towards her mouth.

“Promise?” she questions, laughing as she takes a bite. Her eyes close at the sweetness, savoring the flaky crust. Mallyn doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to go back to Muggle desserts again.

“I’m Kelsey,” she introduces, extending her free hand. Mallyn returns it with her free one, while taking another bite of the pastry. “This is just how food is in the wizarding world,” Kelsey explains, watching as Mallyn finishes the dessert then immediately reaches for another. “You Muggleborn?” she questions.

Mallyn licks her lips, getting rid of the little bit of whipping cream on her upper lip. “My mom’s a Witch, but we live in Muggle London,” she explains.

“Your da?” she questions, eating a single chip in tiny little bites.

Mallyn hesitates, remembering Percy’s words from earlier, that Fred had interrupted. “Muggle,” she answers.

There’s a noise of disgust from the opposite end of the table, a few older boys rolling their eyes, a mutter of ‘letting anyone in now,’ from one.

Fred bumps his elbow into George, making him aware of the scene occurring at the next table over. They slide under the Gryffindor table, taking the two empty seats on the bench opposite of Mallyn.

“Ignore them, bunch of pompous asses!” she calls, grabbing a roll and tossing it at the boy’s head. He whips around, his wand angled at Kelsey. She throws another roll, standing up. “Dare you, Turner! Probably backfire and turn your own hair pink again!” Duke shrinks under her threat, obviously not wanting to face the first day of his fifth year with anything going against him. She sits back down, turning her attention back to the Mallyn. “Ignore him and anyone like him, they’re all riding high on old ideas of blood purity,” Kelsey tells her, loud enough that the boys down the way can hear her, “despite having a Muggle great-grandmother himself.” Duke shoots her a nasty glare, his friends trying their best to console him.

Mallyn hesitates, unsure of exactly how to word her question. “You don’t-are you?”

“Both parents are Hogwarts’ alumni, Mum was a Slytherin, Pop was a Hufflepuff,” she answers, knowing exactly what Mallyn was asking without her really asking.

A light thump hits Mallyn in the back, another quickly hitting the back of her head. Mallyn turns around, rubbing the back of her head. Fred and George staring at her, eyes wide. They both lean back, Mallyn matching their stance.

“You’re lucky, only one roommate, we went from one to three,” they say together.

Mallyn huffs, glaring at the two, focusing more on Fred, “Your brother tried to warn me about Slytherin and you stopped him,” she says, reaching out and hitting Fred in the arm.

Fred recoils from her palm. “It wouldn’t have made a difference, just would’ve made you nervous, the hat doesn’t care what you want,” he says, offering her a sympathetic smile. “Hey you’ll be fine, you’re a Halfblood, they really only have problems with Muggleborns,” he offers, trying to lessen her worry.

“Hello, little Weasleys,” Kelsey greets, swinging her legs around to face the trio. “Please tell me you are nothing like that one,” she whispers, her eyes falling on Percy. The twins laugh while shaking their heads. Finally, it’s not only them who see what a git their brother is. They’ve spent the better part of their childhood trying to convince their mother of the fact. “Good, then I think we’ll get along quite swimmingly,” she says, extending both her hands to them. They each take one, shaking it once. Kelsey pivots, taping fellow fourth year, Hayley Booth, on the shoulder. The lioness, in both house and appearance, her hair extending out of her head in golden curls much like a mane, turns around and greets her friend with a large smile. 

Mallyn spins on the bench to face the twins, her back aching from leaning backwards. “I’ve never seen this much food in my life,” Mallyn says, reaching over Fred and stealing a slice of pepperoni pizza from his plate. He intercepts the slice mid-air, a string of cheese falling over his left eye.

“And it never stops,” he winks, shrugging the cheese off his eye and into his mouth.

“What?” she asks, reaching for another slice. He allows her to take this one, watching as she savors the bite.

George swallows his bite of chicken, licking his lips. “It’ll keep replenishing until it’s ordered to stop, feel bad for the house elves though,” he says, reaching for another leg of fried chicken.

“House elves?” she questions.

“They’re the ones that do all the cooking, cleaning,” Fred explains. “We don’t have any at home, but a lot of the other Wizarding families do,” he says, his eyes drifting over to what looks like a seventh year girl at the end of the Gryffindor table.

A slightly transparent body floats around, pausing between Fred and Mallyn’s feet, his chains dragging along the floor. “Look at this, houses getting along,” he hums, poking Mallyn’s feet.

Mallyn peers down at the ghost, the only thing about the Wizarding World that hasn’t surprised her yet. “You don’t look like the ghosts I've seen before, you’re much more clear,” she states, hesitantly dragging her finger through his form. He silently scolds her, swatting her away from his head, but his fingers just drift through her hand.

He floats up, stopping when his head is level with Mallyn’s. “You’ve seen ghosts before?” The Baron questions.

“Yes,” she says, unsure of why he’s asking, “my grandfather once when i was little, the old lady who was the neighbor when we first moved in, the previous tenant of my family’s apartment.”

“Weird,” Fred and George murmur, watching in awe.

“But you see them,” she states, looking up to see multiple other ghosts floating around the oversized room, some pausing at the tables, others completely ignoring the students.

George shrugs, “Yeah, because Hogwarts is a permanent place of importance in Wizarding history,” he explains.

The Baron clears his throat, floating up the rest of the way until he’s at his full height above the children. “For example, I am The Baron, Ghost of Slytherin, sometimes referred to as The Bloody Baron, no clue why,” he muses as the slime oozing off of him drips onto Mallyn’s knee. Before she can wipe it away, it disappears completely.

Another ghost floats down, scoffing at The Baron’s remark. “Perhaps we should go discuss your name with a certain Ravenclaw,” he cracks, a sly smile on his lips. “Harassing the first years?” he questions, raising his sword. The Baron backs down, slinking away to bother some of the students at the end of the Slytherin table. “Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington KG, at your service,” the ghost states, curtseying instead of bowing.

“You’re Nearly Headless Nick?” Fred questions, looking up in awe.

He stands straight, narrowing his eyes at the elder twin. “Sir Nicholas, or Nick, if it pleases you,” he corrects, obviously tired of the onslaught of jokes from the students. Mallyn decides not to push it and ask about the title, seeing as his head appears to be completely intact as well as his neck.

“How many of you are there?” she questions, watching all the ghosts move around.

Sir Nicholas looks around, surveying the growing ghost population in the Great Hall. “Currently there are twenty three ghostly residents of Hogwarts,” he answers, a proud smile on his face. “That over there is the Ghost of Hufflepuff, The Fat Friar,” he states, pointing across the room at a quite heavy man, his head thrown back in laughter.

Mallyn scoffs, crossing her arms across her chest. “Well, that’s rude to call someone that, can’t imagine he appreciates it,” she says.

George tries to hold back a laugh, but Fred just watches in awe at her defending a ghost. “Then we better not introduce you to the Fat Lady,” George murmurs.

“She guards the Gryffindor Common Room,” Fred explains, hoping it eases her grim expression, but she remains the same, her features hardening more as she thinks about it more.

The Fat Friar floats over, having overheard the discussion. His ears tend to ring whenever his name is spoken. He floats down to sit in the empty space next to Mallyn. “Milady, I do not mind the name, it is fitting after all, but I thank you for coming to my defense,” he says, tilting his head to her.

She returns his gesture with a small smile, “It isn’t right,” she says.

“That may be true, but there are many greater injustices in that world than pointing out the fact that when I was alive, I enjoyed delicious food a little too often and a little too much,” he states, patting his robust belly.

“So you wish to be called The Fat Friar?” Mallyn questions.

He nods, watching as her expression softens. “It is what most call me,” he says, “but if it distresses you, you may call me Friar Michael,” he offers.

She smiles, her lips stretching to accommodate her happiness. “Friar Michael, it is a pleasure to meet you, I’m Mallyn,” she says, offering her hand, but quickly retracting it as she realizes he can’t do anything with it.

“A pleasure, Lady Mallyn,” he returns, bowing as he stands. “If you’ll excuse me, I do believe I am being summoned,” he states, floating away to the far table across the room.

“There’s no way she belongs in Slytherin, making friends with everybody,” someone remarks, scoffing to themselves. Fred’s head whips up, glaring at an older boy with dark brown hair, Lucian Bole, a few seats down.

Adrian leans over to the girl with platinum blonde hair next to him, Cara Yaxley, whispering under his breath while making eye contact with Mallyn across the table. “She was crying on the bloody platform, begging her mummy and daddy not to make her go,” he teases, smirking at her. Mallyn glares at the pair.

“Scared of the boats too,” Cassius adds, having traded his spot next to Mallyn for the one next to Adrian.

Kelsey whips her head around, “And what does that have to do with being a Slytherin?” she questions, narrowing her eyes at the younger Slytherins. “Bravery is reserved for Gryffindors, don’t ya know? Or is that the reason you didn't make the cut for Ravenclaw?” she sneers, the boys withering under her gaze.

“You are my hero,” Mallyn whispers, squeezing the older girl’s hand.

“My pleasure,” she says, returning the squeeze while snapping her head back to the boys, who physically recoil at the movement.

There’s a great clattering behind the teacher’s table, a slamming of a heavy door then a scream echoing off the walls. “Get back here!” a voice calls. Mr. Filch takes off from the front of the hall, chasing after a blur of color maniacally laughing as he races through the Great Hall, pulling on students’ hair as he passes them, his bright red pants leave streaks of color in the air.

“Peeves!” Albus, The Bloody Baron, and Sir Nicholas scream at the same time. Peeves comes to a screeching halt, crashing into the wall right by the double doors, taking a few platters from the Ravenclaw table with him.

A head pops up, a wide smile covering most of the lower half of his face, but there’s fear in his eyes.

“Out!” Albus orders, pointing to the doors. Peeves scurries out the doors, the double doors slamming shut behind him. The Baron and Sir Nicholas run through the closed doors, their yelling audible in the Great Hall.

Mr. Filch slinks towards Albus, wringing his hands as he approaches. “Sir, he stole a bunch of undergarments from the students’ trunks and has plastered them all across the corridors,” he whispers, careful not to speak loud enough to let the students hear.

Albus’ face remains stoic, but internally he is screaming at the pest. “I shall have a word with him later, thank you, Mr. Filch,” Albus states, quietly dismissing Mr. Filch. He sends a look to Hagrid, silently asking him to assist Mr. Filch in his task of cleaning up before it’s time to dismiss the students. Hagrid pushes his chair back, the feet scraping the floor. He flinches at the noise, raising his hands in a silent apology. The two quietly exit the room while Albus stands. “Apologies for the intrusion, Peeves thrives on chaos and doesn’t realize that most others do not,” he states, his eyes finding a few select students in the crowd, including two of the newest Gryffindors.

The feast resumes and continues without interruption, besides a few rolls thrown across the room between houses.

Mr. Filch ducks his head into the room, giving Albus a single nod. “Students, it is now nearing ten o’clock,” he declares, waving his wand. A giant clock appears, tolling with the new hour. “Prefects, if you please, escort the students back to the dorms, I’m sure it has been a long day for all, especially our new students,” Albus says, clapping his hands once. The lights lower as the Prefects of each house move to the doors, their wands pointing up. From the end of each wand, the house mascots illuminate. The students shuffle out of the Great Hall, first years in the front directly behind their Prefects. Mallyn shares one last look with the twins, before Slytherin breaks off with the rest, heading deeper into the castle. The four students wand provide the only light as they enter a secluded hallway, descending a long flight of stairs then stopping just in a seemingly ordinary stone wall.

One of the boys turns around, staring down at the Slytherins, placing his wand beneath his chin. “I am Ayers Goulding,” he introduces, the light illuminating his face in a frightening way, exaggerating his already prominent chin and brow bone.

“Lee,” the other boy states, rolling his eyes at the dramatics. The first years exchange a glance, wondering if that’s his first, last, or only name.

The shorter of the two girls, that Mallyn recognizes from the train earlier, smiles larger, purposefully pointing the light at the end of her wand down at the first year. “Astrid Studds,” she whispers, startling the students with a boo. Her laughter cuts into the next introduction, stopping when the last girl bumps into her, forcing her to be quiet.

“Kamala Milner,” she repeats, smiling. She looks around, surveying the group before turning around. She taps her wand against the door three times, waiting a beat in between each touch, while whispering the password under her breath. “And this is Slytherin,” she announces, waving her wand.


	4. three

The room erupts in light as candles throughout the room flame to life, illuminating that every hard surface in the expansive circular room is either wood or concrete and every soft surface is fabricated in luscious velvet or silk, all in varying shades of silver, green, and black. 

“We may be bad, but we do it with style,” Lee declares, crossing his arms with a smirk.

Kamala walks around the room, feeling as though it’s been a lifetime since she saw it last, when in reality it had been a mere two months. She trails her finger on the back of one of the oversized couches, stopping for a moment to pinch one of the pillows, feeling the small beads move between her two fingers. “This is the Common Room, communal space, available to all Slytherin Students,” she explains, continuing to circle as if she were a tiger and the first years are her prey, pausing for a moment, “only Slytherin Students,” she emphasizes. She stops just in front of the four new students, towering over them. “Do not tap on the glass unless you want to piss your pants when the Black Lake squid comes around, or the merpeople,” she says casually, as if they aren’t about to piss their pants right now. The two girls lean to her right, the boys to her left, peering at the oversized glass pane windows that take up the majority of the back curving wall of the room, a dark abyss on the other side. 

Ayers leans back against the couch, lounging nonchalantly, “Next order of business, first years, your rooms are through either curtain, boys to the left, girls to the right,” he states, tilting his head towards the openings cloaked by velvet curtains on either side of the room. “Don’t let the vampire bed bugs bite,” he whispers, winking at the four.

“Everyone else, you know where you go,” Lee says, dismissing the group with a wave of his hand. The curtains fly open, the lights in the Common Room dim as the ones in the two hallways brighten. 

The girls and boys split off to their two separate hallways. Once they’re standing in the doorway, Mallyn looks down the hallway, counting nine hovering lanterns, one right above each invisible doorway, and one over the permanently open doorway of the bathroom at the end of the hallway. The older girls push Mallyn and Lucy forward, Lucy stumbling on her first step. Astrid stays behind, pulling the two girls to a stop with her, as the rest of the girls continue on their journey forward. “Default password is Pureblood, you two can change it once you agree on something,” she instructs, gesturing to the solid stone wall in front of them. 

Mallyn reaches out, dragging her hand along the stone wall, unsure of exactly where the door is. “Pureblood?” Mallyn questions, a wave of unease washing over her.

Astrid shakes her head, “Can’t phrase it as a question, has to be a statement.”

“Pureblood,” Mallyn states. Out of the stone, a glowing green light highlights a seven foot by four foot rectangle. The light disappears as there’s a second of light grinding of stone against stone, then the rectangle slides upwards disappearing into the wall, leaving only the gaping hole, revealing a darkly lit room. The curtains are drawn over the windows and two four poster beds against the far right side of the room.

Astrid pushes the two younger girls into the room. “Sleep tight, you have the weekend free, but classes start on Monday, schedules are over on your desks, for that which you need you need not ask, you only speak your demand, ” she says, pointing to the two long desks against the opposite wall of the room. She wiggles her fingers as a goodbye, excusing herself from the room. Her head pops back in, “Oh, and the bathroom is the room at the end of the hall,” she says as the slab of stone lowers back to the ground, resealing the room.

The two girls stand around, unsure of what to do. 

The taller of the two takes the initiative, offering Mallyn her hand. “Lusidia, but everyone calls me Lucy,” she greets, quickly shaking Mallyn’s hand then retracting hers, “guess we’re stuck together for the next seven years.”

Mallyn looks around, surveying the room. Besides the two beds and two desks, the only other pieces of furniture in the room are the giant wooden armoires against the wall that the door had been. “At least there’s only two of us, I don’t think I could handle four roommates,” she says. “Are you okay with the beds the way they are?”

“Yeah, could do with more light,” Lucy shrugs. The room grows brighter and warmer, a chandelier of candles descending from the center of the ceiling. 

“Whoa,” they both exhale. 

Lucy spins around, looking around the room. “I want my bed where my desk is,” she says, testing out her theory. The furniture starts to move, her bed floating away from it’s spot as her desk moves as well, each piece ending up where the other had been. “Cool,” she says, “you try.”

Mallyn looks around, spotting the empty space between their wardrobes. “Can we have a full length mirror between the wardrobes?” she asks. They wait, nothing appearing in the space between the two wooden cabinets. Mallyn scowls, frustrated at why it’s not working for her, then she remembers Astrid’s words. “I want a full length mirror between the wardrobes,” she states. A full length mirror complete with an ornate silver wooden frame surrounding the reflective surface materializes from the wall as the wardrobes shift to make room. 

The two girls look at each other, bursting into a fit of giggles. They sink to the cold floor, recoiling from it. “Black shag carpeting,” Lucy speaks to the room. The entire slab of concrete disappears, plush ebony shag carpeting replacing it. They sink into the material, feeling the soft against their skin. Mallyn shivers, the temperature of the basement rooms cooler than she’d been prepared for this early in the year. “Fireplace,” Lucy states. Out of the corner of her eye, Mallyn sees a fire roar to life. Lucy’s face shifts from pure excitement to disappointment.

Mallyn reaches out, “Are you okay?” she questions, placing her hand on Lucy’s knee.

“My parents are gonna be so disappointed,” she murmurs, reaching up to wipe a tear from her cheek.

“Why?” Mallyn inquires

Lucy looks up, searching Mallyn’s face for sincerity. “Are you Muggleborn?” she questions.

“Kind of? My dad is a Muggle,” she says, thinking of her parents, smiling at the image of them sitting on the hideous floral couch in the living room in her mind.

“I’m guessing your mother hasn’t told you much about Hogwarts, or the Wizarding World in general,” Lucy gathers, she shouldn’t be surprised, not with the way that Mallyn has reacted to everything so far. She breathes deeply, unsure of exactly where to start. She’s known her whole life who, or more exactly what she is, she can’t imagine finding out and having to adapt. “Slytherin as a house, and those who are members, have a bad reputation for being,” she says, choosing her words carefully. Mallyn raises her eyebrows, silently asking her to continue. “Evil,” Lucy finishes, unsure of what other word to use, when they’d all be synonyms of the simple truth. Mallyn’s face drops as she processes the word. “Some of the worst of the worst came from Slytherin, the ones who end up in Azkaban,” she tells Mallyn, chills running down Lucy’s spine from just mentioning it, “top security prison for wizards and witches,” she explains.

“Does everyone…” she says, unsure of her own question. Does everyone know? Does everyone think this? She gasps, realizing now exactly what Fred and George had stopped Percy from rambling on about on the train. She doesn't even need Lucy to answer, she knows it just from the experiences she’s had today.

“Think it’s my turn to ask if you’re okay,” Lucy says, placing her hand over Mallyn’s. “It doesn’t mean we’re gonna turn out that way,” she reassures her, “being Slytherin doesn’t mean you’re doomed, I mean apparently, there’s a sixth year that goes by the name Tonks and her mom was a Slytherin, and a Black at that, she married a Hufflepuff Muggleborn and went against everything her family stood for, plus there’s only a handful of those that turn out truly heinous, and it’s not like it’s just Slytherin, I mean, there’s thirteen other official wizarding schools, not including the unofficial ones plus kids who get homeschooled, some of them are bound to be bad, I mean, there was the whole you know, well, I suppose you don’t actually, but there’s so much more to Slytherin than the bad,” she says, moving more animatedly as she goes on, obviously excited by the promise of something besides gloom and doom, “I mean, those with great ambition are awarded with The Order of Merlin-”

“Merlin was actually real?” Mallyn asks, removing the card from her chocolate frog from her back pocket. The gold writing still proclaims his name, but the space where his photo had been is empty.

“And a Slytherin,” Lucy adds. 

Mallyn turns her focus back to the card, watching as Merlin reappears and waves to her. “How does the hat choose?” Mallyn questions, watching Merlin disappear again.

Lucy hums, dragging her fingers through the soft strands of the carpet. “Not really sure, I know it uses Legilimency, wouldn’t be surprised if it uses Arithmancy or Divination,” she says, thinking out loud, suddenly wondering herself. Mallyn opens her mouth to ask a question, but Lucy cuts her off, quickly learning Mallyn never leaves something as be, always needs an explanation, “Mind reading and ways to predict the future, you can take classes on them your third year as your electives if it interests you,” she explains.

Mallyn nods. It’s only the first day, not even really as classes haven’t begun, but how is she going to make it through the week, let alone three more years with all these questions swimming around her mind. The question that floats to the front of her mind is that of which the hat stated to her mere hours ago. “Did it talk to you?” she asks Lucy.

Lucy shakes her head, her ebony hair moving in waves much like the water beyond the glass. “No, I mean it barely even touched my head, but it laughed,” she says, her face contorting, “laughed like it knew something no one else did.”

“It remembered my mother, knew that she married a Muggle and that her family didn’t like that, called it defecting,” Mallyn says, hating how the words feel in her mouth, hating even more out it feels to hear them out loud. She shakes it from her head, forcing a smile on, “It said that I have great potential,” she tells Lucy. She can feel her smile fade when she remembers the other comment the hat made.

Lucy smiles with her, noticing when Mallyn’s drops rather quickly. “What?”

“Nothing, that was it,” she lies, realizing that revealing the reference to her lineage may not be the best move. She may not be willing to talk about it, but that doesn’t mean she can’t try to understand it. “I’m pretty tired, think it’s best to head to bed,” Mallyn says, standing up. Lucy follows suit, trailing behind her as they walk over to the armoires, pulling open the door to reveal all their clothing out of their trunks and sorted perfectly. Mallyn pushes a few things around, finally finding her favorite sweatshirt to sleep in, one of her father’s well worn Oxford ones from his years of attendance. She sheds her robe, hanging it carefully on the hook on the back of the door, along with both the Hogwarts tie and her Slytherin one she has yet to put on. In the cover the door offers her, she slips off the many layers of her tops, trading it for the warmth and comfort the sweatshirt provides. Mallyn selects the first pair of sleep pants from the bottom drawer, quickly pulling them on. She carefully closes the doors to the armoire, turning around to face her bed. She walks over, carefully pulling back the heavy curtains, Lucy already comfortably curled up under the bedspread of her own four poster bed. Mallyn stands at the edge of her bed, eyeing the black silk sheets and silver bedspread. Lucy rolls over, yawning into her pillow. “Vampire bed bugs aren’t real, right? That was just to mess with us?” she questions, hesitant to touch it, let alone sleep in it. The answer she receives is not reassuring.

“They’re real, just not here,” Lucy murmurs, her words fading into another yawn. She rolls over once more, the right side of her face pressed into the fabric of her pillowcase. 

Mallyn inhales deeply, reminding herself that there’s nothing to be scared of, not in this bed in a magical room in a magical dungeon that’s technically underwater in a lake that holds monsters at a school that is on lockdown because an evil wizard has escaped custody. Absolutely nothing to be scared of at all, other than everything. Pushing aside her bag, Mallyn climbs into the bed, sinking into the mattress and comfort immediately floods her senses. She reaches over, pulling the curtain tight, trapping her in momentary darkness. Digging around in her bag, she finds her wand, separating it from the other contents of her bag. There’s one spell she does know, one that her mother deemed perfectly safe to teach her herself. “Lumos,” Mallyn whispers, a golden light projecting itself from the end of her wand. Pointing her wand down into her bag, she digs around, searching for what her soul is craving. Finally feeling the worn leather, she wraps her hand around the leather strap, pulling it upwards. Her journal flops out of her bag, pulling the box of jelly beans along with it. She picks up the box, inspecting the design. “Bernie’s Bott’s Bean?” she questions, silently repeating it three times. “Wizards have such weird names,” she mutters, turning the box over in her hand. Banana? Eh. Black Pepper? Weird. Blueberry. Uh yes please! Booger? Booger? “And taste in food, I need to bring Muggle candy back with me after break,” she mutters, pushing the box of repulsive candies aside. She pulls her knees up, resting the worn journal against her thighs. She drags her finger along the design embossed on the front of the corner, an ornate design of ropes intertwining into a never ending cycle. Mallyn tugs on the knot, undoing the straps. The journal falls open to the last page, her pen still stuck into the binding. She leans forward, transcribing her day only omitting the trivial and mundane. She reads through it, smiling at the amount of memories she’s made in a single day, the good and the bad. She goes back and fills the not particularly important details in the runoff, not wanting to forget a second of one of the days that has forever changed her life. Sighing contently, she closes the journal, securing the leather binding. She absentmindedly traces her finger along the design, something she’s done time and time again, in the past she’s even found herself tracing it on paper, table tops, against her skin. She just loves feeling the different carvings on her skin as she presses her fingers into the leather. 

Lucy moves within her bed, shifting restlessly under the bedspread. Mallyn pushes her curtain back, peeking at her roommate. Her arm is laying on top of her face, pushing against her nose, affecting the way she breathes. Instead of a quiet in and out, her breaths come out more in little huffs, her lungs overcompensating for the obstruction of her nose, by forcing more air out of her mouth. Mallyn pulls her curtain shut, blocking out the light from the fireplace. She shoves her bag, journal, and wand all to the far side of the bed. Even with her items taking up space, she can still stretch out entirely. Back home, in her little twin bed, she can stretch from the top to the bottom, but if she puts her arms out, her hands flop off the sides. She reaches out, gripping the silk beneath her fingers, slowly dragging her thumbs against the soft material as her consciousness slips from her.


	5. four

Owls circle the ceiling of the Great Hall, packages, letters, and everything in between dropping from their claws, a select few descending to the tables for the string around their legs to be undone. A deep red envelope with the gold Weasley crest embossed on the back drops from the sky, landing on the Gryffindor table where all the Weasley boys sit eating their breakfast. Errol lands on the table next to Percy, waiting for her payment. 

“Oh no,” George groans, throwing his upper body onto the table, letting the wood soak up his pain.

“Oh yes,” Charlie cheers, laughing at his younger brother’s embarrassment. “I wish I had a camera,” Charlie says, holding up his fingers as if taking a picture. Percy holds out a small piece of bacon for the family owl. She gratefully accepts it, gobbling down the piece of fried meat.

Bill groans at the standard Howler packaging. He wishes the Ministry would just ban them under cruel and unusual punishment. He picks up the letter, making a tear in the ribbon with his knife.

Molly’s voice explodes out of the letter, the parchment taking on the shape of her lips. “Hello, my Gryffindor boys, it’s Mummy, I couldn’t be more proud of you! Ah, Bill, my Head Boy, Charlie, a Prefect, Percy on his way! And Percy tells me the twins have made a new friend quite quickly, but I’m not sure he spelled her name right in his letter, Mallyn,” their mother’s voice calls out. “Mallyn, Mallyn, Mallyn, M-A-L-L-Y-N,” she repeats, each time taking on a different tone as if it’d help her figure out a way that sounds right. Unbeknownst to the boys, Mallyn approaches the table, watching in horror as this animated letter screams and yells. She flinches when it says her name, only relaxing when she realizes it is not in fact talking to her, but rather just about her. Her cheeks flush, knowing she’s hearing something George and Fred would probably not want her to hear. Parents talking about friends, or pretty much anything, is always rather embarrassing. “Hmm, suppose it’s one of those names you have to get used to, although he went on and on about her bloodline,” she says, her octave dropping from excitement to actual disappointment. The Howler turns to face Percy, “Percy, drop the subject entirely,” it orders. The lips upturn again, addressing the Weasley boys as whole now. “Anyway, kisses and hugs from your father and I, Ron is absolutely chomping at the bit to join you and Ginny too! Love you!” her voice calls before the letter rips itself to shreds, falling to the table in little bitty pieces.

Fred groans, matching his twin and flopping onto the table, a little bit of leftover toast sticking to his cheek. “Could she be any more embarrassing? Why’d she send a Howler for that?” he complains.

Charlie and Bill burst out laughing remembering exactly how it felt to be in their position. In Charlie's third year, their mother had sent a Howler about getting top marks in his first Care for Magical Creatures class. “The letters get confused by her voice, I got one second year that was talking about how excited she was about me making the Quidditch team,” Charlie offers, remembering staring at the letter as it heated up while he tried to figure out what he possibly did to deserve a Howler.

Percy makes a little noise, almost as he didn’t mean for it to escape. He scowls at the parchment in front of him. “Better get used to it, I have a feeling you’re gonna be getting a lot of those in the next few years,” he says while stirring his tea with one hand, scratching something out on the parchment in front of him with his other.

Fred and George both pop up, glaring at their older brother. “Why do you assume the worst?” they question together.

“Because I’ve been your brother for eleven years, you came out of the womb with fireworks in your hands,” he states, never looking at them, just continuing to stir his tea and write.

“Shove off,” they mutter, pushing at Percy. He slides out of the way, careful not to knock over his tea.

“That’d be quite the sight,” Mallyn chuckles, her hand covering her mouth.

George and Fred’s heads whip around, smiling at their friend. “Hi, Mal,” Fred greets.

Her smile drops at his words. “Don’t call me, Mal,” she warns, her arms crossing against her chest. The movement makes her bag hit her in the leg, knocking her off balance slightly. “My name is Mallyn,” she asserts, standing her ground.

Fred’s face shifts, his smile vanishing and his eyes opening wide in confusion. “Sorry, it just slipped out,” Fred offers, looking to his brother for help.

Mallyn inhales deeply, “It means bad and I’m not, I’m not bad,” she states, forcing herself to remain calm.

“I never said-” Fred says, trying to backtrack.

Mallyn sits down, her bag separating their legs from touching. “It hasn't even been a day, and it’s already been made very clear what Slytherin is known for,” she says. 

George pushes a fresh glass of orange juice to her. “It’s just a stereotype,” he offers.

Percy sets aside his parchment, unable to concentrate with the bickering. “Some legends say that gingers’ freckles are souls they’ve stolen from others since they don’t have their own,” he states. One set of wide blue eyes and two sets of narrow brown eyes stare at him. “Another stereotype, a legend, a story, a warning, if you will,” he explains. All three first years’ mouths drop open into o’s. 

“I can’t believe you wrote to mom last night,” Charlie scoffs, lunging across the table to ruffle his brother’s hair.

Percy pushes him off, his own hands immediately going to his hair to try and tame it. From what Mallyn’s observed so far, he should just leave it be, seems like every one of his brothers is determined to undermine his desire to have neat hair. “I write to her every night, I’m not a barbarian like the rest of you,” he proclaims while fiddling with his tie. He’s the only out of six at the table to be in his uniform despite it being Saturday.

“You need a hobby,” Charlie states, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he rubs his hand over his brows.

“Perhaps a girlfriend,” Bill adds, although he’s not one to talk. Even with Emily having gone and graduated last year, he still can’t seem to find anyone else even nearly as interesting as her.

“Maybe a hobby with a girlfriend because you’re getting just plain sad,” Charlie adds.

Wanting a female’s perspective, Bill turns to the only girl at the table, “Mallyn-” 

“No,” she says, both to his unasked question and to being involved at all. 

Fred and George burst out laughing. “See even a lowly first year wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole, but she was all for Charlie yesterday,” George mocks. Fred hits him in the arm while Mallyn’s cheeks flush. “Ow,” George mutters, rubbing his arm with one hand, punching his twin right back with the other.

Charlie raises his eyebrows, nodding at the entire interaction. He pushes himself up from the table, swinging his legs over the bench. “Gotta catch you guys later, first Quidditch practice of the year starts at noon,” he states, stuffing the last bit of eggs in his mouth. He lifts his first two fingers of his left hand, saluting the table goodbye.

“Quidditch?” Mallyn questions, watching as Charlie walks away.

An almost sinister smile grows on Fred’s lips. “Oh, you’re going to love this,” he exclaims, swinging his legs over the bench and pulling on Mallyn’s wrist to follow. The pair comes to an abrupt stop at the entrance of the Great Hall. Fred looks her up and down, frowning at her plain pale pink long sleeve tee shirt. “You’re gonna need something warmer, and a snack,” he says, releasing her wrist from his grip. “Meet back here in ten?” he says. She nods, separating from him to head towards her room.

Mallyn wanders down the hall, stopping to look at different points now that things are visible in the daylight. There’s a few other students in the corridors, exploring exactly as she is. Before she knows it, she’s standing in front of the entrance to the Slytherin common room. She lifts her wand out of her bag, holding it up against the cool stone, “Pureblood” she whispers. The door pops open, revealing the lively common room, a bunch of students moving around, all talking at the speed of light, obviously catching up from the summer. She scoots around a group of three, gliding past the curtain. “Pureblood,” she states once she’s in front of her and Lucy’s room. She stands back as the door reveals itself, sliding open. Lucy is still dead asleep in her bed with the curtains mostly shut, the only sign of life being her light snoring beyond the velvet fabric. Mallyn walks over to her armoire, pulling out her heaviest sweater, a light blue turtleneck that her grandmother gave her last Christmas. She pulls it over her shirt, snuggling into the soft material. She turns to leave, stopping when she remembers Fred said to bring a snack. Carefully, she sneaks over to her bed, not wanting to wake her roommate. She grabs the box of jellybeans and the small bag of popcorn, holding them tightly in one hand. Pausing for a moment, she stares at her journal. Mallyn looks around the room, trying to decide the best hiding place. Under the mattress is too obvious, as well as her desk. “I need a secret hiding place only I can access,” she says, waiting to see if the room will cooperate with her request. A glowing out of the corner of her eye catches her attention. She picks up her journal with her free hand then walks over to the fireplace, feeling around. There’s a slight protrusion in one of the stones where the rest are smooth. She drags her finger along it, recoiling as it nicks her finger. She sticks her finger in her mouth as an attempt to soothe the small wound, her journal dropping to the floor in a dull thump. The stone shoots out of the wall, revealing a hollow space within. Smiling, she picks up her journal and sticks her journal inside, pushing the stone back into the wall. It seals itself back into the wall. Stepping back, she counts the number of stones up and over, making sure she knows exactly which one is hers. Her assessment satisfies her. She turns on her heel, exiting the room, snacks in hand and her bag thumping against her leg with every step. 

“Oi, first year!” someone calls as she’s exiting the common room. She turns around, searching the room. A girl with the middle section of her otherwise blonde bangs emerald green stands up from a chair by one of the large windows. “She still asleep?” she questions, jerking her finger back towards the dorms. Mallyn nods. “Swear that train ride is a fucking sedative,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. She sinks back into her seat, propping her book up on her lap. Mallyn turns back around, pushing her way out of the room. Weaving her way back up to the main floor, she spots Fred’s hair from the end of the hallway. She walks quicker, not wanting to keep him waiting longer than necessary. 

Fred smiles as he sees her approach, her turtleneck the shade of her eyes. She walks right up, looking up at him, a smile on her face. “Did you try the jelly beans yet?” he asks, noticing the box in her hands.

She holds it out for him to take, shaking her head, “There is no amount of cherry flavored jelly beans that is worth the risk of getting a booger or vomit one.”

He picks at the top of the box, digging around within it, “Here,” he says, holding out a single red one to her. She stares at the jelly bean hesitantly, her face scrunching up. “Trust me,” Fred laughs.

She picks up the jelly bean, licking it once before placing it on her tongue. “Cinnamon,” she hums, smiling at the familiar flavor. He digs through the box, pulling out a slightly lighter one, inspecting it closely. He holds it out to her. She repeats her process, smiling after chewing it. Fred raises his eyebrows as a silent question. “Cherry,” she confirms. Fred moves to dig around again, but she places her hand on his wrist, stopping his movement. “I know that the earthworm flavor is red, the rest of the box is all yours,” she tells him. 

“I think little Freddie’s got a little girlfriend,” Bill says. George follows his line of sight. He spots Fred and Mallyn at the doors of the Great Hall, her hand on his. George’s eyebrows raise. It’s nothing, he thinks, if there’s anything going on, Fred will tell him. He turns back to his brother to defend his twin, but Bill is already gone. George looks around, spotting his eldest brother walking through the door at the opposite end of the hall that leads out to the courtyard. George is left with just Percy. He looks around, searching for a better option. As if the universe is granting his silent request, one of his roommates walks through the doors, following Fred’s finger to George.

Lee bounds up to the table, his energy radiating off of him. He plops himself down next to George, talking a kilometer a minute. “Your brother said he’s busy, but do you want to go explore the castle?” Lee questions. His foot restlessly tapping out an erratic beat against the stone floor.

“Do you know what he’s doing?” George questions, not turning around to look at Fred.

Lee jumps up, setting his butt on the table and his feet on the bench. “They’re going to watch Quidditch practice,” he says, looking around the room. He pauses, turning his attention back to George. “Wanna come, unless you’re doing something with,” he says, looking at Percy.

George cuts him off, getting up off the bench. “Never, sure, let’s go,” he says, heading into the main part of the school, passing where his twin had been. 

Fred rambles on as he and Mallyn walk towards the far door, trying to explain the concept of Quidditch. Mallyn doesn’t discourage him, she thinks it’s fascinating how he talks about the sport as if it’s everything, even when nothing he’s saying makes any sense to her, not the words nor the order they’re in. Fred winds down as they reach the door. He pushes on it, holding it open for her.

“Is George coming?” Mallyn questions, tucking her hair behind her ear to be able to see Fred, but the wind has a different idea, blowing her hair around her head like a building tornado.

Fred stops moving, looking back down the corridor then over his shoulder, waiting for his twin to pop up. “I’m so used to him just being there, I don’t think I told him,” he mutters, looking around in frustration. How could he not have realized George wasn’t there? Fred runs back to where they had just come from, poking his head into the Great Hall, but the only redhead still remaining at the table is Percy, muttering at his paper. He runs back to Mallyn, where she greets him with a smile. “He must’ve found something to do, I’ll find him later,” he says, unsure of just how he feels being without his other half. As they walk, Fred thinks back, trying to find a single memory in his mind where it wasn’t the two of them together. Even at home, if one was at the top floor, the other on the main floor, that’s still only a few meters of distance, and now he has no clue where he is in the great big castle.

Fred and Mallyn tredge out past the school, the bleachers in the distance growing bigger as they get closer. “I’ll meet you up there,” he says, pointing to the top of the bleachers before walking onto the field, making a beeline to Charlie. Mallyn starts ascending the bleachers, taking them slowly to appreciate the view with each step. Once she’s three fourths of the way up, she stops, looking around. She sets her popcorn down on the bench next to her. Staring at the school, she appreciates the sheer monstrosity of a castle. If she didn’t know better, she’d think it never ends, but she does know better since she can see the trees that start of the Forbidden Forest and the water of the Black Lake.

Fred climbs the stairs, taking them two at a time. He stops a few feet from Mallyn, watching her as she stands still, just taking in the view. She turns slowly, smiling when she sees Fred waiting for her. She climbs over the bench, taking a seat and patting the empty spot next to her.

“For me?” Fred teases, dramatically widening his eyes, placing his hand on his chest.

Mallyn laughs, her hand reaching up to cover her mouth. “No, for Peeves, he’s right there, can’t you see him?” she questions. 

Fred turns, aggressively waving his hands through the empty air next to him. “He had to go,” he shrugs, using the benches as steps to climb up to his spot.

“Then it’s all yours,” she says as he plops down next to her. “So what should I be expecting?”

Fred looks out on the field, thirteen potential Gryffindor players all holding their brooms in their hands. “Not much, this is the first trial of the season, they’ll be working with the new players, they have a new starting Keeper, other one graduated, Charlie’ll fill in the roster with substitutes if anyone’s good enough,” he explains, pointing down at the small crowd, singling out the second shortest player on the field, the new Keeper, Oliver Wood. “I think they have a good chance at winning the cup this year, last time Gryffindor won was for the eighty five, eight six season, Charlie was Seeker then too, but every year since then Slytherin’s won,” Fred rattles on, watching as the players start to move around, stretching the final bits of sleep out of their bodies.

Mallyn squints, trying to understand how Fred can see anything from up here, let alone be able to tell the figures apart, besides Charlie whose hair acts as a beacon to his position wherever he moves. “How come?”

Fred chews on his tongue, wanting to be careful how he phrases his words, as Mallyn’s already snapped at him once today for an honest mistake. “Being cunning, or straight up ruthless, depending on the player, comes in handy,” he explains, emphasizing the middle part of his sentence. Mallyn turns to look at him, no anger on her face, just a simple look of trying to understand this new world of hers. “The rules of Quidditch are very flexible at best, most of the time anything goes,” he says, shrugging. She turns away, her attention back on the field. Fred peaks over her form, spotting the tip of her wand poking out of her bag. “Have you tried any spells yet?” he questions.

“Just one, Lumos,” she answers, leaning forward more to try and see the players more clearly, “my mom taught it to me once I got my wand.”

“Ollivander’s?” Fred asks. Mallyn nods, still not looking at him. Fred sighs, wondering what he can do to draw her attention back to him. He resorts to his natural state of rambling. “That’s where I got mine too, all of us so far, poor little Ron’s probably gonna get stuck with a hand me down since Bill and Charlie will have graduated by then, Ginny too,” he says. Mallyn turns to look at him, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “A lot of wizards get multiple wands over their life, whether they feel they outgrow it, they break it, you know things happen,” he explains. He reaches into the internal pocket of his jacket, removing his wand. He places it flat against his palms, holding it out for her to see. “It’s got a unicorn core and made of spruce,” he proudly proclaims.

“That can't be comfortable to hold,” she says, reaching out and dragging her finger down the ridges of his wand. It reminds her of the texture of pinecones.

Fred defensively grips the handle, forcing himself not to cringe as the grooves pinch his skin. “Yeah, and what’s yours look like?” he argues while waving his wand around to get a true feel for it. Mallyn reaches into her bag, removing her wand. “I got jipped,” he groans, dramatically flopping backwards. He cracks one of his eyes open at the sound of Mallyn’s laugh.

“Look, I can even hold it like brass knuckles,” she says. Fred sits up and watches intently as she slips her fingers through the three small circles at the base of the wand. She looks up, confusion on his face instead of hers for once. “Oh, they’re these things made of metal, usually steel despite the name, and you put them on your fingers like this,” she demonstrates, switching the wand from her right hand to her left, “and when you punch someone it makes your punch more damaging,” she explains, mockingly punching the air in front of them. Fred watches the entire thing in awe. “My dad really likes American gangster stories,” Mallyn explains.

Fred laughs, “My Da would get a kick out of you, all things Muggle fascinate him, he works for the Ministry of Magic as head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office,” he tells her, while she continues to fiddle with her wand, spinning it around her index finger. “Remember what it’s made of?” 

Mallyn thinks for a moment, trying to remember exactly what Ollivander had told her. She’d tried out so many wands, the words all bleed out together. “Dragon and acacia,” she says, deciding those two sounded the most right.

“Really?” Fred questions, mentally flipping through the options in his mind.

She nods, “Yeah, I tried out a few and Mr. Ollivander didn't like any of them for me so he went into the back and brought this out, said he saved the ones in back for special Witches and Wizards, said this one spoke to him, but wouldn’t tell me what was so special about it,” she says, now wondering if there’s a reason he wouldn’t tell her. 

Fred waits for a moment, unsure if he should say anything. Mallyn tilts her head, waiting for him to speak. He sighs, knowing he isn’t the best person to explain this, but he also knows she won’t let it go now that it’s been brought up. “If I remember right, acacia is rare, Ollivander can be a snob when it comes to wands, he only makes wands with either unicorn, dragon, or phoenix cores, tons of different types of wood, but acacia is really picky,” he explains, “it’s just weird that it’s such a weird shape, usually the more special the material, the more boring the design.” 

A little huff of air leaves Mallyn’s lips. She holds the wand up to her eyes, carefully inspecting the object. “Why do I get the feeling that every adult in the Wizarding World knows more than they ever let on?” she quietly asks, staring at her wand as if it would provide her with an answer.

“Do Muggle adults not do that?” Fred asks.

“They do, but not in the same way,” she says, “there, it’s like they’re working off of general assumptions of what they think everyone turns out to be from their own life experiences, but here, it’s like they all literally know things about us,” she says, shuddering under the odd look in Ollivander’s eyes when the wand worked for her almost a month ago. “I mean, the Sorting Hat, for one, it’s just creepy,” she says, her laugh fading into a yawn.

“Yeah,” Fred half heartedly murmurs. Fred watches closely as Mallyn’s body shakes from the force of her yawn, or rather from trying to fight it. “You okay?”

She nods her head while continuing to yawn. “Yeah, yeah, just tired, I didn’t really sleep,” she murmurs, her hand reaching up to cover her umteetnth yawn. This time her yawn turns into a laugh. “I swear the squid was staring at me through the curtains,” she says, even though she has no way of knowing if anything was truly outside the window through the curtains covering the windows plus the curtains around her bed. 

Fred looks down at the field. None of the players are even on their brooms yet. “Take a nap, they’re not gonna start doing anything for about twenty minutes,” he says. Mallyn shakes her head, wanting to power through and not miss a minute of the practice. Fred shrugs off his jacket, bunching it up in his hands. He holds it out for her. 

Mallyn accepts it with a shy smile and sets it on the bench. She pulls her legs up onto the wood plank and lays down, resting her head on the makeshift pillow. She moves a little bit and a content sigh escapes her lips before settling into the comfort of sleep. 

Fred smiles, proudly resting his hands behind his head as he lounges back, keeping her in the corner of his eye as he watches the players shift on their feet to keep warm. The cool breeze nips at his skin, but the warmth inside him from seeing Mallyn use his scrunched up jacket as a pillow is more than sufficient to keep him from shaking. He moves around a little bit, careful not to bump into her. Her hair fans out against the jacket, the dark brown hue of her hair contrasting to the sunshine yellow of his jacket. He sticks his hand in his pocket, dragging his thumb against the soft material of her ribbon to avoid reaching out and touching her hair. He’s never felt anything so soft. Everyone in his family, besides sharing the color, all of them have an odd variety of textures scattered throughout their hair, none even coming close to the silkiness of Mallyn’s. He reaches up with his other hand, dragging his fingers through his own hair, catching on little knots despite brushing it only an hour ago.

Charlie looks up, finally taking a break from his role as team captain, to wave at his little brother. If anyone in the family is more obsessed with Quidditch than Charlie, it’s the twins. Quite frankly, he was surprised when Fred walked onto the field earlier without George. Charlie gives him a thumbs up, before lowering his goggles. 

Fred leans up, nudging Mallyn’s shoulder. Her eyes flutter open, inhaling deeply. She shifts, recoiling at the coolness of the wooden bleacher against the small sliver of skin from her sweater bunching up in her sleep. “Better?” Fred questions as soon as her eyes are completely awake.

“Yeah, thanks,” she mumbles, reaching up to rub her eyes. Her head lulls to the side, looking down at the field. “They about to start?” she questions, a yawn distorting her words. Fred nods. Mallyn pushes herself up, sitting up. She carefully picks up Fred’s jacket, shaking it out in front of her to unbundle it. She hands it back to Fred. He quickly pulls it on, zipping it up completely. Mallyn stretches up, trying to rid her body of the last bit of sleep.

Practice kicks off, each player zooming around on their brooms, trying to regain the feeling for their rides after a summer off. Mallyn leans farther forward, trying to get a basic understanding of what’s going on, but all she sees is blurry blobs moving around the field. Fred leans forward, trying to get into the game, but he quickly finds that watching practice is nothing compared to playing.

“This is boring,” Fred exhales, leaning back onto the bench. 

“Oh, thank God,” she says, leaning backwards as she laughs. Mallyn moves, fidgeting uncomfortably, moving until she pushes her upper body off the bench, dangling by her feet. Fred leans between his legs, watching as her hair sways from the light breeze. She hangs upside down, content to sway with the breeze. The world looks different flipped, almost like it’s a different world entirely. Instead of everyone rushing by, it’s as if they’re in slow motion. Movement out of the corner of her eye catches her attention. Her brows furrow as she squints at the man across the yard, hovering between a wall and a tree. A lightbulb goes off within her mind. “I know him,” she mutters, pulling herself upright. The sudden movement causes her to lose her grip. Before she can even try to catch herself, she’s slipping through the small gap between levels of bleachers. Fred reaches out, grabbing her by her sweater, but the fabric slips through his fingers. She hits the first level of wood a few feet down, breaking through the old oak as she cradles her knees to her chest. She continues tumbling through the air, through the next wooden platform all while watching Fred’s face contort in fear. She slams her eyes shut, preparing for the worst, but impact never comes. She peeks through one eye, the ground a few inches below her. Her savior slowly lowers her the few remaining inches until her entire body is pressing into the damp grass. Resisting her urge to kiss the earth, she pushes herself over, flopping her back against the ground. Charlie drops to the ground, his face hovering over her, concern dripping off of him. “Are you okay?” he asks, scanning her for signs of damage. 

“Whoa,” she exhales, looking up at the boy hovering above her as if he were an angel. 

“Mallyn!” Fred calls as he runs towards the pair, his heart pounding. If it wasn’t for his older brother's quick reflexes, she’d be nothing but a pancake shaped girl on the ground. 

Mallyn’s head falls to the side, her eyes focusing on the spot she’d seen the man that had distracted her in the first place, but there’s no sign of him. “Up we go, come on,” Charlie mutters, hoisting her off her back until she’s standing upright. 

The world around her spins. “You were so fast, how did you get to me so fast,” she rambles, not actually asking him, more processing the fact that she almost just died. Why had she fallen in the first place? Of course! The man! She looks around spinning in circles, but the only people out are students, minus Mr. Filch who is completely unaware of what just happened, off in his own world as he talks to himself. 

Charlie chuckles, “well, I’m not Seeker by accident,” he says, clasping his hands onto her shoulders, forcing her to stand still.

“What?” she questions absentmindedly, still turning in search of the man. “I knew him,” she says, only coming to a stop as Charlie holds her still with a firm grip on both arms. 

“Of course you know me, we met yesterday on the train then again this morning,” Charlie chuckles, lines forming around his brown eyes as he smiles. “Are you alright?” he asks as a small crowd grows around the two. Fred rushes up to the group, hunching over in exhaustion as his adrenaline fades.

“Fine, fine, I knew him, how do I know him?” she mutters, trying to wiggle out of Charlie’s grasp, but Charlie tightens his grip, forcing her to look at him. She blinks a few times, a sudden rushing filling her ears.

“Who?” Charlie repeats.

Mallyn blinks a few more times, until Charlie and Fred are clear in front of her. “The man, the man that was over there,” she says, turning to look over her shoulder.

Fred and Charlie lean to look around Mallyn. “I don’t see anyone,” Charlie says as Fred raises his eyebrows.

She shakes her head, pushing his hands off of her. “He’s not there anymore, I saw him when I was upside down, I know him, I just don’t know from where,” she says, turning to walk in that direction. 

Fred trails behind her, “What’d he look like?” he questions.

“Miss Smyth!” a shrill voice calls. The three come to a stop. Minerva catches up with the trio, her focus on Mallyn. “Pray tell, what on earth was that?” she questions. She reaches forward, pinching Mallyn’s face between her fingers and examining the girl. Her pupils are blown out, only a sliver of blue visible. Charlie and Fred back away, putting a foot between themselves and the Head of Gryffindor. 

Mallyn stutters as she shakes herself loose from Minerva's grip. “I didn’t mean to, I just lost my balance,” she explains, looking to Fred for help. 

Fred steps forward, stopping when Minerva raises her hand. “I can see that, but my heart isn’t-” she says, exhaling heavily. She examines the young girl in front of her, her face betraying her confusion more than anything else. “Please follow me to the infirmary,” she instructs, sweeping out her arm.

“I’m okay,” Mallyn insists, again looking to Fred for help, but he shakes his head, his face contorting into one of pity.

Minerva places her hand on the girl’s back, guiding her back towards the school. “Madam Pomfrey will be the judge of that,” she says. Mallyn trudges along, pouting. “It hasn’t even been twenty four hours, are we going to have a problem?” she questions. They approach the spot where Mallyn saw the man, her eyes widening when she looks at the ground.

“Of course not, Professor, I didn’t mean to, I just slipped,” she says, her eyes focusing on the pair of shoeprints in the mud, exactly where she’d seen the man.

Minerva stops, peering down at the girl. “How exactly does one just slip through the openings between levels?” she inquires, glancing over her shoulder at the structure. She’ll have to make a note for the repairs.

Mallyn looks up at her, chewing on her tongue until she sneezes. “I was upside down, tried to pull myself up and lost my grip,” she explains. “Fred tried to help, he couldn’t hold me,” she says, quickly backtracking, not wanting to seem as if she was blaming him, “this isn’t his fault.”

“And you were upside down why?” Minerva questions, her exhaustion written all across her face.

Mallyn sneezes again, her nose quickly growing red. “It’s fun, I did gymnastics growing up,” she says, turning to sneeze again. “Sorry, I’m usually only like this around,” she says, her explanation cut off by another small sneeze.

“Cats?” Minerva fills in for her. Mallyn nods, sneezing again. Minerva pushes forward, Mallyn trailing along next to her. “Madam Pomfrey can get you set up with allergy potion,” she says. She waves her hand, the door opening for the pair. Minerva leads the way, winding her way through the building with ease. Mallyn follows her, taking in the castle as they move. Minerva waves her hand again, the doors to the infirmary opening. A woman stands up from her desk, rushing forward, the tail of her white cap following behind her.

“Miss Smyth here took a tumble from the top of the bleachers, through the platforms,” Minerva says, her lips pulling into a straight line on her face. 

Poppy Pomfrey gasps, reaching out to the girl. She escorts Mallyn to the first bed, one of twenty in the large room. Mallyn looks around, all the windows amazing her into silence. “Oh my goodness,” she exhales, quietly inspecting the silent girl. “Thank you, Minerva, I’ll take it from here,” she mutters as she waves her wand, supplies filling her cart. Minerva silently excuses herself, closing the doors behind her. Madam Pomfrey raises her hand, the dividers boxing the two in before she magically removes Mallyn’s sweater and long sleeve shirt in one go, leaving her in her cami. Madam Pomfrey gasps, bruises already forming all along Mallyn’s back. “Oh my goodness,” she exhales again, closing her eyes. “I have told ‘Landa a thousand times that she needs to watch all the students, not just the players,” she mutters to herself.

“I feel fine,” Mallyn says but groans as Madam Pomfrey reaches forward and taps her wand against her back. “Okay, maybe not so fine,” she groans, her chin dropping to her chest. 

Poppy raises her wand, preparing herself. “Only take a moment, dear,” she promises before waving her wand, preferring the precision her wand offers her, and whispering the incantation. The bruises on Mallyn’s back fade from existence before they even have a chance to fully form. Mallyn exhales a sigh of relief. Madam Pomfrey holds up her arm, tutting at the little slivers of wood in her skin. “Just a few splinters, it could’ve been much worse,” she says, mostly to herself. She selects the tweezers from her cart, summoning her chair from the corner of the room. She carefully plucks the embedded wood from Mallyn’s skin, healing the open wounds with a wave of her wand. A content sigh escapes her lips, inspecting her work. She summons back Mallyn’s clothes, the soft fabric sliding back onto her body. “Now, you need to rest and give the spells the proper time to work,” she declares, cleaning up her workspace.

Mallyn stands up. “I feel fine really,” she says, but Madam Pomfrey pushes her back down. 

“Rest,” she instructs. Mallyn lays back, the blankets coming up to rest over her. Mallyn lets her head fall to the side, seeing the Quidditch field in the distance. Madam Pomfrey waves her wand, the curtains closing around Mallyn, forcing her to choose either between the darkness of the room or the darkness behind her eyelids. She begrudgingly chooses the latter, but is fast asleep within the minute.


	6. five

Mallyn rushes down the hall, sliding to a stop in front of the Potions classroom. She straightens her attire, tugging at the robe. Taking a deep breath, she steps into the room, quickly realizing her mistake. The room reeks of twenty different putrid smells that somehow weren’t evident from the hallway. Her eyes scan the room, searching for an empty seat. She smiles when she sees two heads of red resting on a table. Mallyn weaves through the rows of desks, setting her bag down on the empty space of the desk in front of the twins. She takes a seat then spins to face them. Mallyn waits for a moment, appreciating the first sense peace in this singular moment since leaving her home. She closes her eyes, savoring it for another second until she scoots forward, purposefully dragging the feet of her stool against the concrete flooring of the classroom.

Both boys' heads pop up, matching goofy grins on their faces. “You escaped!” they proclaim together.

Mallyn nods, trying to control her own smile. “Madam Pomfrey finally let me go, said I couldn’t miss the first day,” she explains.

The Potions professor stalks towards the group, the hem of his cloak dragging along the floor. He stops just before the group and clears his throat. “You look no worse for wear, Miss Smyth,” Severus says, giving a curt nod. Mallyn looks up, coming face to face with the head of her house. She nods slightly, trying not to tremble under the hard gaze of the man. His attention switches from Mallyn to the twins. “No,” he says, indicating with his finger for them to separate. They don’t fight his order, Fred quickly moving around the table to sit next to Mallyn, while George sinks into his seat until Lee slides into the seat that Fred left vacant. Severus turns on his heels, scanning the room as he walks to the front. All twenty students are now present and in seats with partners. Severus stops moving as soon as he reaches his podium, glancing down at the parchment. “I am Professor Snape, your Potions professor, please turn to page one and read until page thirty nine,” he says. With that, he turns on his heels, disappearing into his office.

“Guessing he’s not a morning person,” Mallyn whispers.

Fred laughs, careful not to be too loud. “Oh no, he’s like this all the time,” he says, remembering his older brothers’ warnings.

Mallyn cracks open her book, flipping to the first page of the book and reading through the foreword. Fred flips to page one, skimming the writing. He quickly works through all thirty nine pages before Mallyn even reaches page one. He closes his books, opting to steal one of Mallyn’s sheets of parchments from her bag, doodling on the blank sheet. Mallyn tries to peak as he scribbles, knocking at his arm when he tries to cover up his work. He reveals it with a flourish. She rolls her eyes, watching as the little figure of himself flies around on a broom, zooming through a Quidditch hoop.

“Mr. Weasley,” Severus calls, stalking over to the desk. Mallyn quickly begins rereading, finally moving onto the second page. Severus glares down at Fred, scowling at the drawing. “Since you seem to be the first and only one done, care to explain what type of caldron Mr. Markings believes is best for a simple antidote potion,” Severus inquires, his hands linking behind his back as he peers down at the first year. Mallyn tries to warn Fred not to answer, knowing it’s a trap.

Fred looks up, smiling at Severus. “Certainly, Professor,” he says, “Mr. Wigger,” he states, emphasizing the correct name of the author of the book, “thinks that pewter caldrons are best for most potions which is why it is one of our required materials,” he says, pausing to look down at the closed book in front of him, “and he despises collapsing caldrons for their unsteadiness,” Fred answers, careful not to show off just how smug he feels. “Anything else, sir?” he asks, smiling at the grumpy Potions Master.

Severus lips remain in a straight line while a light huff escapes him. “Leave Miss Smyth alone or I will have no choice but to separate you two, Mr. Weasley,” he states. Instead of retreating to his office again, he moves throughout the classroom, keeping an eye on the students as they continue their reading.

Fred returns to his doodles, adding in thirteen other players, his twin fulfilling the role of the other beater of the Gryffindor team, which wins in a crippling defeat of the Slytherin team. Mallyn comes to the end of the introductory chapter, sticking a strip of parchment in as a placeholder. She leans over Fred’s arm, watching as a rematch plays out on the parchment.

Severus claps his hands together once, concealing his smile as he turns when several students’ faces contort in fear. “I understand that this is your first class and will take that into consideration when grading your homework that is due first thing tomorrow,” he states, watching as several students' shoulders drop. He waits for a moment, surveying the new class. “One parchment’s length on the basic necessities of any potions kit,” he looks around, raising his eyebrows, “you may get started,” he drawls, his annoyance seeping through his words. “Leave when the time is up,” he declares before slinking back into his secluded office, closing the door with a slam. A clock starts counting down, the silver object hovering just above the podium.

The first years share a look, all wondering if this is what every class is going to consist of. Mallyn retrieves a fresh sheet of parchment from her bag, dipping her quill into the ink.

Fred follows suit, peeking at her essay, already done with the first paragraph. “Merlin, how do you write so fast?” he questions, his parchment still blank.

Mallyn sets her quill in the ink pot, refreshing the supply. “At my old school, nuns would walk around with rulers and hit our hands if they felt we weren’t working fast enough,” she explains while copying a line from the textbook. Mallyn pauses, looking at Fred’s parchment, her mouth gaping at the ink on the page. “Your handwriting is horrid,” Mallyn whispers, hitting the feather of his quill with her own. Fred starts to defend his lettering, which he knows is horrible, his mother and brothers never stop pointing it out during lessons at home, but Mallyn tilts her head causing any words Fred wanted to say to drift away. She sets her quill down and places her hand on Fred’s forearm. “Thank you for bringing my bag to the infirmary,” she says, smiling, “Madam Pomfrey told me you stopped by.”

“That lady is not a fan of visitors,” Fred tells her, remembering how Madam Pomfrey’s face had grown tenser and tenser in each passing moment he and George had stayed in the infirmary. “We tried to stop by to see you four times,” Fred says, “she’d only let us stay for a minute at a time and you were never awake when we stopped by, but she promised she’d get you your bag.”

George leans forward, placing his entire torso on his and Lee’s desk. “She’s scary, in a quiet sort of way,” George adds, his face contorting as he thinks of his mother’s silent anger, only a select few incidents in their life causing it to happen.

“My heroes,” Mallyn teases, moving her hand from Fred’s arm to rest against her chest just where her heart lies within her. The clock in the front of the room reaches zero, rattling around against the wood. Mallyn carefully tucks everything back into her bag, not wanting the ink to spill or her words to smudge. Fred shoves his barely started essay in between pages of his book, holding it in his right hand. George rolls off the table with a flop, his items in his grip. Mallyn looks down at him, his bangs flopping backwards. “How’s the view from down there?”

He looks around the classroom, the words on the books around the room making about as much sense as they do upright. “Eh,” he shrugs. Fred and Lee offer George each a hand, easily pulling him up.

Mallyn swings the strap of her bag over her shoulder, standing still as it thumps against her leg, her skirt and robe softening the blow. “Charms?” she questions, the rumbling of her stomach making itself evident. “Sorry, didn’t get a chance to eat breakfast,” she mumbles, placing her hand over her stomach.

Fred riffles around under his robe, extracting a granola bar from his back pocket. He extends it out to Mallyn, “Sorry, it’s a little crumbled,” he grimaces as he feels it rattle around in the packaging.

“I imagine sitting on it would do that,” she jokes as she takes the snack from his hand. “Thanks, Freddie,” she says, quickly tearing into the packaging. Fred looks at her for a moment, a sort of odd expression on his face. “What?” she questions, wiping at her mouth as they climb the stairs.

He shakes his head, not meaning to make her self conscious. “Only my brothers have ever called me that,” he explains.

“Oh, sorry,” she says, her face dropping.

“No, I like it, you don’t say it like they do,” he says, pausing when she tilts her head. “It’s an insult from them,” he adds.

“Because you’re their little brother,” she says, emphasizing little, understanding the annoyance in his voice. He nods while shrugging his shoulders. It doesn’t actually bother him, just more annoying than anything else. “I’ll call you Fred, or anything else if you’d like me to,” she says, finishing the last bit of the granola bar.

“Freddie’s good,” he assures her, liking how it sounds when she says it, “as long as you say it with a ie instead of y.”

George catches up, leaning over Mallyn’s shoulder. “Does that make me Georgie?” he questions, batting his eyelashes.

“If you’d like,” she laughs. She looks over her shoulder “Lee? Any name requests?” she asks, drawing his attention for the hacky sack he’s tossing between his hands. It hits the ground with a light thud, the beads rattling around within the confines of the knitted material.

Lee bends down, retrieving his toy. “Captain Awesome,” he declares as he stands up, placing his fists on his hips.

“No,” Mallyn laughs, shaking her head. Her hair falls forward, covering the top half of her outfit, making it easy for everyone to forget she’s in Slytherin.

Lee squats down, balancing on one leg while mimicking The Thinker pose before popping up. “Lee’s fine, or LJ,” he declares with a shrug of his shoulders and a large smile. Students pass by, not even taking notice of the small group congregating in the corridor.

“LJ,” she tries out, smiling at the two letters that take more syllables than his three letter name. She smiles after repeating it three times. “LJ,” she confirms.

All three’s attention turns completely to her. “And what about your nickname?” George asks, squinting his eyes as he mockingly assesses her.

Mallyn laughs, opting to not repeat some of her less unflattering nicknames from childhood. “My sister calls me Lynnie, no one else is allowed to,” she says, trying to think of any others.

“Mal is out,” Fred says, sharing a look with the other two boys.

“What about your parents?” Lee questions.

She shrugs, “I mean the usual, sweetheart, darling, but I don’t know, I like my name, it’s always felt right even when other things haven’t,” she explains.

“Mallyn,” all three confirm together.

“Mallyn!” Lucy yells from down the hall, pushing past the other first year students behind the small group. She tries to stop but slams into Lee’s back. The pair stumbles forward, falling into a heap on the ground. Lee rolls them over, Lucy’s eyes wide as she takes in their current position. She scrambles off of him, gladly accepting George and Fred’s help up.

Unintelligible words rush out of her mouth as she gets to her feet. She breathes deeply, carefully repeating her words. “Are you okay?”

Mallyn looks at her roommate in bewilderment. “Me? Are you?” she questions.

“Hundred percent,” she says, tugging on her uniform to straighten it, “but I was so worried, I heard what happened,” she explains, her concern written across her features. “One of the older girls saw it happened,” she says, “I can't believe you jumped from the top of the stands.”

Mallyn’s eyes shoot wide open. “What? No, I fell,” she rambles, turning to Fred for support. Fred nods along animatedly, backing her story. Lucy’s mouth drops open into an o. “Did she say I jumped?” Mallyn questions.

Lucy shakes her head, her hair secure behind her head in a long braid. “No, Lee did,” she says. All eyes except Lucy’s fly to Lee, his hands raising in defense as well as taking a step back while shaking his head. Lucy shakes her head, her braid rattling against her back. “No, Lee the Prefect,” she clarifies. The pieces start coming together in Mallyn’s mind, remembering him from the first night, but confused as to why the one that had rolled his eyes at the dramatics would fabricate a story.

A loud tapping draws their attention, the group peeking into the classroom. Filius stands at the front, tapping his wand against the amplifier next to him. “Students, students, please take your seats,” he announces. The five stumble into the room, taking up the last row of desks. Fred scrambles after Mallyn, sliding in next to her at the middle desk while Lee offers the empty seat next to him to Lucy, leaving George all alone, until he notices Angelina in the corner, her focus on the open book in front of her. She looks up as he approaches, apprehension in her eyes.

“Are you saving this for someone?” he questions, gesturing to the empty stool. She shakes her head and pulls her bag closer to her so that he can have room. He sits down, setting his bag down behind him.

Professor Flitwick steps up onto his podium, clearing his throat before pressing his wand to his throat. “Welcome class, glad to see everyone could make it,” he announces, mentally counting the students. “I am Professor Filius Flitwick, the local Charms Master, as well as I’m sure Professor McGonagall informed you, the leader of the school choir, which will be having auditions on Wednesday during lunch,” he mentions, silently hoping for more turnout than last year. Fred nudges Mallyn in the ribs. She rolls her eyes at his insistence of her joining when she’s still hesitant on the concept of frogs being involved. “I am beyond excited to be the one to teach all of you the introductory chapters of charms, including proper wrist movement and the importance of enunciating,” he says, smiling at his students, truly thrilled to be teaching. “If you please, open your books and we’ll be diving head first into the exciting magic of Charms,” he says, waving his wand to disseminate the books. The books hover out of the shelves, two stopping at each desk until they’re all out. Mallyn pulls her off the top, flipping it open. Filius waves his wand again, passing out the syllabus. Students reach up, snatching them out of the air. “If you direct your attention to the paper, it covers what we shall be focusing this year, including the standard Levitation Charm, Wand-Lighting Charm,” he says, Mallyn smiling knowing that she’s already got that spell handled, “the Wand-Extinguishing Charm, Fire-Making Spell, Softening Charm, Locking Charm as well as the Unlocking Spell, Mending and Severing Charms, the Knockback Jinx plus the Ice Jinx, as is standard operating procedure for first years,” he finishes, double checking the list that he covered them all. “Well, shall we get started?” he questions, proudly clapping his hands together. “Today, we will be starting with an essential charm for any Witch or Wizard, the Levitation Charm,” he says, stepping off his podium, floating himself to the floor. The students applaud at the demonstration, whispering filling the classroom. “I’ve had feathers placed at all of your desks, please open to page ten where you will see the breakdown of the charm and then we will learn how to float the feather,” Filius instructs.

Mallyn flips to the page, placing the book between her and Fred, leaving his book untouched at the top of the desk. Fred scans the page, pausing on the image of a pineapple floating. “Could’ve used this on Saturday,” Fred murmurs, laughing to himself.

Mallyn controls her urge to hit him in the arm. “I could’ve died,” she scoffs.

Fred scoffs back, “It’s Hogwarts, school, no one dies at school,” he mutters, flipping through a few pages before closing the book, “unless it’s from boredom.”

Mallyn slaps her hand down, stopping him from flipping any more pages. She glances down at the page. “How could you possibly find any of this boring?” she asks, pointing to the image of a door opening and closing on its own.

Fred shrugs, his face scrunching up. “Kind of know it all, I mean my mum is a mean teacher, you don’t escape without being able to recite the page back to her,” he says, shuddering at the seemingly nonstop lessons. At this point, he’d gratefully accept any teacher other than her.

“Well, if you know everything, do the spell,” she suggests, picking up the feather and placing it in front Fred.

He eyes the feather. Huffing, he riffles through his robe pockets, searching for his wand. He wraps his hands around the handle, making sure not to grimace. Pointing the tip at the feather, he glances at the proper page again, rehearsing the words in his mind. “Wingardium Leviosa,” he says, narrowing his eyes until the feather floats.

“Excellent! Excellent!” Filius exclaims, clapping as the feather floats a foot above all their heads. He steps closer, whispers for Fred to keep it steady. Fred lowers his wand, retracting as soon as the feather touches the wood of the desk. “Now you, dear,” he urges Mallyn.

She pulls her wand out of her bag, lacing her fingers through the circles and gripping it firmly. “Wingardium Leviosa,” she says, frowning when the feather barely budges.

“Try again, dear, there’s more to magic than just waving your wand and saying a few funny words, ” Filius says. Mallyn suspected so or there wouldn’t be the need for a school to learn it. Mallyn breathes deeply, focusing on the feather. She says the words again. The feather wiggles around for a moment before lifting off the desk, rising as Mallyn raises her wand. “Perfect!” Filius exclaims, clapping for her. He scans across the classroom, a few other students successfully levitating their feathers. “Come, come, everyone else now!” he proclaims, moving around the classroom. “Now, remember enunciation is key as well as proper wand movements, you must not waver,” he instructs. The classroom erupts with the repetitive words. Most students succeed, only a few needing help in the first lesson of the year. As the class comes to an end, Filius moves around the room, the feathers and books putting themselves away. “I am very much looking forward to this year!” he declares, the door whooshing open with a wave of his hand.


	7. six

The class moves as a whole to the main building, stopping at the door of the History of Magic classroom. The first year students filter in, selecting their seats, the last six claiming the back row again. Mallyn drops her bag on the desk, her books clattering around within. 

A ghost floats through the wall, floating over the desks. “Open your History of Magics textbook to page seven,” he instructs, his voice barely loud enough to hear and monotonous enough to lull himself to sleep. The first years turn to look at each other, unsure of how to proceed. Cedric lifts one of his textbooks out of his bag, purposefully dropping it onto the table just high enough up that the impact creates a thud. The old man startles awake, blinking a few times.

Adrian raises his hand, his face contorting in confusion and disgust. “You’re our teacher?” he questions before the ghost can even notice his hand in the far right side of the room.

Cuthbert chuckles, low and throaty as if there’s something stuck in the back of his throat. “Of course, who better to teach young Wizards and Witches about the History of Magic than someone who was there,” he says, sighing deeply before floating down and sinking into his chair. “Just kidding, I’m not that old,” he mutters, sighing deeply as he assesses the room. 

Fred leans over, dragging his first two fingers across the curtain of Mallyn’s hair separating them. She turns to look at him, pushing her hair behind her ear. “Rumor has it, he taught here when he was alive, died in his chair right there, and just got up the next morning and continued to teach,” he whispers, raising his eyebrows.

“Not a rumor if it’s true,” George murmurs, leaning over to swat at his twin. He falls out of his seat, the legs of his chair rattling against the floor. “Just doing my part in keeping you awake, sir,” he announces, his hand shooting above the tables, his thumb sticking up.

Cuthbert sinks further into his chair, a ghostly cup of coffee in his hands. “Thank you, Mr. Weasley, is it?” he questions, messing with his glasses. George’s head pops up, level with Fred’s head. “Two of you?” he asks, blinking a few times as if to clear his vision. George climbs back into his seat, rearranging his mess. The class settles down, allowing Cuthbert to start his lecture and by the end of it, thirteen out of twenty students have fallen asleep before he dismisses the class an hour later. Mallyn grabs her bag and turns to shake Fred awake.

The redhead roars to life with a jolt. “We’re free?” he questions, looking around hopefully, “Or dead?”

“Lunch time,” Mallyn confirms as she sticks her unused quill and parchment back into her bag.

“Oi! Lunch!” he calls, hitting George on the arm. George wakes up, falling out of his seat again, landing on the floor, his hair flopping out from the angle. 

Mallyn stands up, hovering over George, “Might as well just stay down there, seem to end up there often enough,” she says, holding back her bag so that she can look at him.

“Feeling high and mighty up there, are you?” George cracks, swatting at her robe. 

Mallyn squats down, her bag resting on the floor next to George. “Have to admit, feels pretty nice,” she admits, stepping backwards out of his reach. He crawls after her, grabbing her ankle. He jerks just hard enough that she loses her balance, landing flat on her butt with an umph. George scrambles to his feet, now towering over Mallyn, although she wouldn't have to be sitting for that to happen. He grins down at her for a moment before offering her his hand. 

“You two done?” Lee questions, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m starving,” he groans.

“You ate like three people’s worth of breakfast only a few hours ago,” Angelina argues, absentmindedly playing with the end of one of her braids.

“Hey, I’m a growing boy, gotta catch up to these giants, right?” he says, knocking his head towards the twins who stand a head taller than him.

Fred moves to stand next to George, offering Mallyn another hand up. “You wish,” the twins scoff as they pull her to her feet. 

“How do you know that you won’t be some of those kids that just hit their growth spurts early then stop growing at fourteen?” Mallyn questions as they exit the classroom, a moving force of six.

Fred purposefully looks down at her, squaring his shoulders. “Because Bill’s seventeen and six three, but when he was our age he was five foot, we’re already five two,” he states. “Five three if we try,” he adds, but Lee’s look says otherwise.

“Plus da’s six three,” George chimes in, straightening his posture.

“And your mother?” Mallyn questions as she attempts to hide her sly smile, failing horribly. 

“Five three,” Fred confirms while scowling at her.

“That’s what I thought,” she hums, tossing her hair behind her shoulder as she pushes forward, literally pushing on the twins back to get them to move.

“How would you know?” George interrogates over his shoulder. 

Mallyn looks up to meet his eyes. “Saw all you guys on the platform,” she explains. Fred slams on his breaks, craning his neck to look at her. “Kinda hard to miss nine redheads,” Mallyn clarifies quickly, shaking her hair free from behind her ears to hide the tips of them as they grow hot, a horrible betrayal of her body that always reveals her embarrassment even over the slightest things. 

The group enters the Great Hall, not many other students in the large space, the most being a cluster of students at the end of the Hufflepuff table. George, Fred, Lee, and Angelina sit down at the closest table in the open spots next to the large door frame. “Are we allowed to sit here?” Lucy questions, staring at the wood table. The Gryffindors look around, unsure of the protocol. I mean, they know technically anyone can technically sit at any table, Mallyn sat with them on Saturday and nothing burst into flames. Mallyn takes the first step, setting her bag on the table then sitting down and promptly swinging her legs over the bench and tucking in. She pats the spot next to her. Lucy stares at it, unsure of the unspoken promise of nothing happening. Mallyn tugs on her robe, forcing her forward. She takes the seat, keeping her hands off the table. 

A platter of chicken appears in the middle of the table, along with a bowl full of mashed potatoes. Each student helps themselves to the food, Lee taking twice as much as anyone else. Mallyn picks at the scoop of potatoes on her plate, her overwhelming hunger dissipating with each passing second. When she can no longer stand it, she pushes her plate away, content to just listen to her friends talk amongst themselves. 

It’s odd to think of people that she met just days ago as her friends, but it feels right, she has more in common with all of them than any of her friends back at school. Even though she hadn’t known the truth, she always knew there was something there, some underlying aspect of herself lurking just beneath the surface that set her apart from them. For a while she thought it had been the fact that her dad was American, but then Emily transferred in when they were eight and she fit right in, right away. As they got older, she thought it had to do with the fact that she preferred reading and her private lessons rather than partying, but Susana was on her way to becoming upper class president and still seemed completely happy at any party. Now Mallyn understands, even when she didn’t consciously know, some part of her knew that she was different and because of that she had to keep a part of herself hidden. Here at Hogwarts, she was free to be herself, completely and utterly unfiltered, now it was just a matter of time and effort to discover herself who she truly is, starting with her heritage. The library would be the best place to start, surely they’d have some sort of record on wizarding families, especially ones as seemingly prominent in the community as the Burkes and Blacks. She tries to picture her mother at her age, being called Valentina, or Val, or Tina. It’s hard to imagine when she’s never seen a photo of her mother before her parent’s wedding, the rest destroyed in the fire that killed her grandfather.

“Mallyn,” Lucy whispers, pushing on her arm. 

Mallyn turns around with fright, realizing she’s still in the Great Hall. “Sorry,” she says, shaking the thought off. “Yes?” she questions, eyebrows raising.

“Are you going to try out for the Frog Choir? Fred was saying that you should,” Lucy clarifies. Mallyn turns to look at Fred, but his face contorting in confusion forces her to look away. She can’t make sense of the madness of her family within her mind just yet, let alone to have to try to explain it.

“Oh, I guess, I mean, does Hogwarts have any other clubs?” she questions, making sure her focus stays on the conversation.

Lee shovels another serving of mashed potatoes onto his plate, picking at it with his fork. “There’s the Gobstones Club, but I don’t think it’s anything you girls would be interested in, the stone shoots out fart gas when you lose a move,” he says before promptly shoving a concoction of chicken and potatoes into his mouth.

Angelina’s face contorts in disgust, watching the spectacle of Lee eating for the second time that day. “That is disgusting,” she mutters, scowling at him.

Lee nods animatedly, “Yeah, that’s why-”

“Not the game, your assumption,” she says, cutting off his words. “And your eating habits,” she groans. They engage in their own private argument, their volume getting louder with each exchange, eventually leaving the table and walking off together.

“What other clubs?” Mallyn questions once it’s quiet enough to speak.

“Charms Club, more tutoring than a club really though,” George says as he steals the last chicken leg off Lee’s abandoned plate, 

“Astronomy Club is on Wednesdays at nine thirty at night,” Fred says, smiling, having already forgotten the weirdness of Mallyn’s earlier trance.

Lucy clears her throat, just loud enough to draw their attention to her timid voice. “If you’re into entomology, Slugs and Bugs Club meets Fridays at six,” she tells the three, trying to visualize the posters in the common room.

George leans forward, waving his hands to everyone. Playing along, they all lean in. “There’s rat racing on Wednesdays at five forty five, we’re going to steal Percy’s rat and enter it,” George whispers, grinning widely. Mallyn rolls her eyes, both at him, and in general at the notion. 

“You should check the message board in your common room, there’s some house exclusive clubs,” Fred suggests, remembering quite a few posters in the Gryffindor common room bulletin were exclusively for Gryffindors.

George drops his forks, sudden information rushing through his head. “Oh and Hagrid, the giant we met first night, hosts a Magical Creatures for anyone with an interest in magizoology,” he says. Mallyn perks up, the idea of learning of all of the creatures the world has to offer, sending a rush of excitement through her blood. 

“Meetings are on Wednesday from five thirty to seven thirty,” Fred supplies on cue at sudden interest on Mallyn’s face. 

George smiles to himself, pausing to look at Mallyn. “Charlie goes to them,” George says, laughing as her cheeks flush. Fred restrains his urge to hit his brother, knowing it’s only in good fun, but he wishes his twin would remember how embarrassing it can be to be publicly reminded of futile crushes having been through it himself two years ago when their mother blindly pointed out George’s constant looks at Hilary, a friend of the family who was not only fifteen, but was also standing right next to her boyfriend. 

Lucy speaks up, her eyes staying on her watch. “We should go, class starts soon,” she says, digging through her bag for her schedule. Fred and George both shove one last bite into their mouths before sliding off the benches, books in hand. Mallyn’s last up, looking around the large room before following her friends into the hall. 

“What do we have next?” Fred asks, searching his mess of papers for his schedule. 

Mallyn pulls out her schedule from the pocket within her bag, unfolding the piece of parchment. “Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall,” she answers, her eyes skimming the remaining classes of the day. Astronomy at two, Defense Against the Dark Arts at three, and their final class of the day being Herbology at four. 

“What type of clubs did you have at your old school? Our mum’s idea of a club was dinner, attendance was required,” Fred says. 

“The usual,” Mallyn says, thinking for a moment while shoving the paper back into her bag, “choir, debate, one of the older boys started a cooking club last year, maths, science, writing, there was student council but that was for only for the older students, had to be in at least year ten,” she explains. Fred’s head tilts like an animal’s when trying to understand. “My school started at first and went all the way to twelfth year,” she explains, realizing how odd it must sound when students at Hogwarts graduate after their seventh year.

They enter the classroom, Angelina and Lee still bickering, but sitting next to each other at one of the tables in the middle of the room. Their faces drop, realizing there’s notecards with names hovering above each desk.

Lucy breaks away first and makes her way to the front, taking her seat next to the girl who had been the first named called for sorting, a Hufflepuff named Pomona Brooks. By some sort of odds, both sets of twins are seated next to each other, George and Fred taking the very last desk in the back right corner of the room. Mallyn forces her feet to move, taking the seat below her notecard, plucking the parchment out of the air. 

“Alicia,” her partner introduces, holding her own notecard in her hand. 

“Mallyn,” she returns, tucking her notecard away.

“I know,” Alicia responds, literally biting her bottom lip at the accidental admission. Mallyn’s eyes narrow, confusion written across her features. “Sorry, no, it’s just quite the fall you took, everyone kinda knows who you are at this point,” Alicia explains.

“I didn’t jump,” Mallyn states, her lips pulling into a tense line.

Alicia raises her hands in defense, “Oh, no, I know, I was there.” Mallyn’s face visibly relaxes while her nerves stay on edge. Alicia lowers her hands and offers a small smile instead. “I love Quidditch, hope to make the Gryffindor team in a few years,” she says, hoping to ease the tension.

Minerva exits her office, smiling out at the students already all in their seats, everyone conversing with their desk mates. She crosses the room in a few strides. “Miss Smyth, glad to see you’re recovered,” she says, hovering by the end of the desk. She steps closer, watching carefully.

“My allergies are better, gone,” Mallyn confirms the unasked question hanging between them, staring up at the professor. Minerva shifts into her Animagus form and pounces onto the desk, turning in a circle in front of Mallyn. She purrs in response to Mallyn’s silence, the air free of sniffling or sneezing. Minerva moves from table to table, pausing by each student. She jumps forward, landing on her two feet at the front of the classroom. “Mr. Towler and Miss Loxias, please see Madam Pomfrey at your earliest convenience to receive an allergen potion,” Minerva declares, her charmed quill taking note of her announcement.

Fred, George, and Lee all exclaim their personal choice of expletives from their seats while everyone else claps, Minerva's glare finding all of them in a fraction of a second. “Detention, all three of you,” she orders, not sparing them another glance. “Can anyone tell me why I am able to transform into a cat as you all just saw?”

Theo raises his hand, his ashy blonde hair standing on end with the assistance of gel. Minerva nods at him, urging him to speak. “You’re an Animagus, a wizard or witch capable of shifting into an animal after years of practice, not to be confused with a Metamorphmagus who are born with the capability to change their appearance,” he answers, while flipping through his book, stopping on the page with the information he seeks. “The process of becoming an Animagus is long and arduous, and had the potential to backfire and cause the transformation to go horribly wrong,” he lists, his finger guiding his way through the dense text, “and one part of the process includes a leaf of a mandrake plant which must be held in the Witches or Wizards mouth for an entire month, from one full moon to the next, before using it in the potion,” he reads. Theo pauses, flipping the page.

“Very good, Mr. McKinnom, five points to Hufflepuff,” she says, cutting him off before he could continue. “I went through the process during my seventh year here at Hogwarts,” she says, smiling through the pain of the memory, the pain of what could’ve been had it gone wrong. Minerva turns around, moving to her desk and searching for something.

“Why a cat?” one of the Etchemendy twins, Flora, asks. 

“A Witch or Wizard, does not choose their form, just as we cannot choose our Patronus form, it is simply a testament to the soul,” she says, internally cursing herself for phrasing it exactly as her father would have. Multiple hands shoot in the air. 

Adrian leans over, looking at the page in Theo’s book. “So she’s a pussy?” he whispers, not even bothering to hide his smirk.

“Detention, Mr. Pucey,” she says, the irony of pronunciation of his last name not lost on her. His face flushes bright red as he slumps down into his seat, unable to meet her eyes when she turns around. “Hands down, you will be taught about Patronuses in your seventh level of Defense Against the Dark Arts and may consider becoming an Animagus after your sixth year under the advisement of myself should I still be the Transfiguration teacher, or whoever supersedes me in my position,” she says, partially answering all of the questions. The students lower their hands, disappointment on some faces. Minerva sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Neither are for the faint of heart, or spirit,” she explains, “and certainly not first years, but to tide all of you over, transfiguration is nothing to be bored with, as it is one of the most important aspects of using magic, and in being so, must be practiced with extreme care and under the proper eye,” she says, several students sitting up straight, a few taking out a sheet of parchment and their quills. Minerva waits for the few to settle, always hating having to try and teach over clattering. “This year, we will be discussing the exact definition of transfiguration and all it encompasses, including the four types of transfiguration, which are transformation, untransfiguration, vanishment, and conjuration, the last of which being the most challenging that can prove difficult for even the most talented witches and wizards,” she instructs as the board starts to copy her words, separating each of the categories by dashes. The chalkboard spins, landing on the other side, already covered in scribbles. “But to even start, you must learn the alphabet that is utilized for all methods of transfiguration,” she says, gesturing to the board. The remaining students get out their parchment and quills, copying down the strange symbols on the board. For the next few minutes, the only sounds are the sounds of quill tips dragging across parchment and the occasional sigh. 

Mallyn holds up her parchment, comparing it to the board, frowning at the deviation in her symbols from the examples on the board. She places the parchment back down, using sparing amounts of ink to try and correct her drawings. Holding it up again, she tilts her head to the side, squinting at the board. Her frown shifts into a smile of satisfaction as she sets her quill in the pot of ink. 

Minerva moves around the room, offering suggestions as she goes. She knows from personal experience how much a little mistake in ink can ruin a spell from working properly. She comes to a stop at the front of the room, lightly clapping her hands to draw everyone’s attention. “Class is dismissed, but before everyone goes, I have an announcement,” she says, surveying the room of first years, wondering if any of them will be the one to accept her challenge. “We are in search of a new Quidditch commentator, seeing as our previous, Murphy McNully, graduated in June and is now working for the Department of Magical Games and Sports in London,” she announces, waving her hand. The door in the back of the classroom opens. Fred and George try to slip out, the door shutting a centimeter from the tip of George’s shoes. “Mr. Pucey, Mr. Jordan, and both Mr. Weasleys stay behind to discuss your punishment,” she says, emphasizing the last two on the list. Sighing, they both turn on their heels, heading to the front of the way. Mallyn shakes her head at the four as she packs up. They deserve whatever they get, their outbursts were uncalled for, especially considering all of them have grown up in the Wizarding World.


	8. seven

Fred and George slink into the classroom and sink into the first empty seats they spot. Mallyn sneaks in behind them, having been waiting by the door. “First day, and detention,” she scoffs, dropping her hands on their shoulders. They both crane their necks to look at her, no true malice on her face. She walks between their chairs, claiming the vacant one in front of Fred. “You’re going to get another Howler from your mother,” she chides as she sets her bag on the floor.

“Another?” they question. Mallyn closes her eyes, realizing her mistake. 

“Did you hear any of the first one?” Fred inquires, fighting back the blush he can feel heating up his cheeks and ears.

She looks up at Fred, the embarrassment he’s feeling obvious. “Yes?” she says, not wanting to look at him, but unable to tear her gaze away.

Her momentary salvation comes in the form of an exclamation from the far corner of the room. The only adult in the room strides over to her chair. “Ah, I see we have another Black this year,” she announces, offering her version of a smile to the girl, an odd combination of gritted teeth and tight lips.

“Pardon?” Mallyn questions, smiling awkwardly as she’s unsure of how to react.

Aurora stares down at the girl. “You are a Black, aren’t you? On your mother’s side, I’m assuming since your last name is Smyth,” she says, tilting her head as she analyzes the girl.

Mallyn hesitantly nods, trying to remember Percy’s words on the train. “My maternal grandmother,” she answers. Aurora turns on her heels, her olive cloak swirling around from the movement. “How’d you know?” Mallyn calls after her.

She turns, just enough to look at the first year over her shoulder. “Your birthmarks, dear, they form your constellation,” Aurora answers as if it’s the most reasonable assumption in the world. Mallyn reaches up, self consciously touching her largest birthmark, the one at the start of her hairline, then dragging down to the one just above the tail of her right eyebrow. Her eyes flit to the teacher as she starts drawing on the board. Sure enough, she draws a constellation consistent of fourteen points, the exact number of birthmarks on Mallyn’s face. She’d been staring at them her whole life and never put it together. “Pegasus,” she announces, retracing the lines with her finger. Mallyn’s face drops, her mind putting more pieces of the puzzle that is her life together. Her grandfather always called her Peggy, insisting that it was a family joke the one time Mallyn had asked. She watches as the professor wipes the board clean, wasting no time in recovering the board in drawings. Mallyn tries to pay attention, but only catches words here and there as her mind gets lost in the descent of madness that is her life which she seemingly knows nothing about. 

The class files out, leaving Mallyn there, quill in hand but her parchment blank. Fred squats down, waving his hand in front of her face, but receives no reaction, oblivious to the world and the truths of it forming behind her eyes. He leans over, pleading to George for help with fear in his eyes and confusion riddling his eyebrows. Fred tries to pry the quill from her hand, but her appendages are frozen around it and he doesn’t dare try with the parchment out of fear of giving her a severe papercut. 

Aurora frowns at the small huddle of remaining students. “What seems to be the matter?” she questions, gliding over to them. 

Fred looks up at the professor, “She didn’t know,” he answers, knowing that the revelation has to be the cause.

Sighing deeply, Aurora bends down until her eyes are level with Mallyn’s. She moves her head back and forth with gentle pushes of her index finger, narrowing her eyes as she examines her. She drags her pointer finger in front of Mallyn's eyes, waiting until she catches the slightest movement then snaps. The quill and parchment fall from Mallyn’s grips as she shakes her head, her hair falling in front of her face. “She should be fine, just a common trance,” Aurora states, standing back up. Mallyn’s head lolls backwards, her hair no longer obscuring her face. The boys look from their friend to their professor. “Mallyn, what is today’s date?” she asks, hoping it’ll be enough to soothe the boys’ worries.

Mallyn blinks a few times as she sits upright. “September fourth, of course,” she answers, looking around the classroom in confusion. George and Fred watch with close care, watching every small movement.

“See, perfectly fine,” Aurora declares, dusting her hands off in front of her and turning to leave.

Fred shoots up, grabbing at her cloak to stop her from leaving. “People don’t just randomly go into trances!” he yells, tightening his grip on the velvet material.

Aurora pulls the fabric free from his hand, understanding his anger but being annoyed with it. “They do when they’ve been spelled to,” she simply states, offering no further explanation. First years are always so exhausting, she thinks to herself.

“You spelled her?” George questions, ready to stand up for his friend but Mallyn’s hand shoots out, gripping his arm tightly. He turns to her, quietly speaking as Fred continues his interrogation, refusing to let her leave his sight.

“No, I simply broke the spell,” she corrects, not moving to leave as it seems futile. “If I had to guess, there was a reason she never noticed her birthmarks formed a constellation,” she says. Fred nods, urging her to continue. “Because someone didn’t want her too,” she explains, wishing they could put it together themselves, it’s truly not that complicated. “If you plan on attending your next class, you better hurry, it begins in but a minute,” she says, finally turning away and moving into her office, slamming the door shut as she waits for them to leave and the next class to start filing in. 

Fred returns to Mallyn's side, picking up her bag and slinging it over his shoulder. George climbs down the ladder first, waiting at the bottom, ready to catch Mallyn should she lose her footing. Carefully, she descends the ladder, grateful for the extra support on both ends with George waiting below her and Fred above. Her shoes meet solid ground not a second too soon as she sways, holding onto the ladder for support. Fred slides down the ladder, waiting for Mallyn to move before touching down. Carefully, the group moves over to the top of the staircase. From the top, the staircase suddenly seems as if it’s never ending. 

Taking it one at a time, the three reach the bottom a minute later. Mallyn tries to turn right, but Fred grabs her hand, stopping her. “No, we’re going to the infirmary,” he states, leading the way.

Mallyn stops in her tracks, looking up at her friend. “We have class,” she says, shaking her head. The idea of returning to the room she’s only just escaped this morning from making her heart skip a beat.

“You’ve been spelled,” George argues, helping his brother by grabbing her other hand and pulling. Mallyn stands her ground, her body lurching forward with each tug but not her feet.

“Obviously for a long time,” Fred adds, tugging again.

George leans down, putting them nose to nose. “Your pupils are the size of saucers,” George states, watching as they retract just the slightest, still only a sliver of blue visible.

“It’s the first day,” Mallyn whines, purposefully pouting. George scoffs, recognizing the tactic from Ginny, the last in her book of tricks as his sister usually prefers trickery first, then violence, only resorting to crying when truly desperate. He kicks at her heel, forcing her forward a step.

Taking advantage of her sudden movement, Fred pulls her forward, five more steps towards the infirmary, five further from the Defense Against The Dark Arts classroom before she digs her heels down, halting all three of them. “You’ve been spelled!” Fred says, repeating his twin’s earlier words.

“The dark arts can leave us alone for one more day,” George promises. Mallyn remains in her spot, but tries to wiggle out of their grasps.

Albus turns the corner, his gaze sweeping across the corridor, his eyes falling on the only other people in the vicinity, three first years huddling in the distance. He continues his path, stopping right behind them. “Hello, children,” Albus greets, interrupting their squabbling. They all turn around, fear written across their faces. Fred and George drop her hands, tucking their own behind their backs. “What seems to be the issue?” he questions, looking down at the first years.

“She’s been spelled, went into a trance during Astronomy,” Fred explains.

Albus frowns, looking more closely at the shortest of the group. “My dear, if you will look at me,” he instructs. He fiddles with his glasses, inspecting Mallyn. He leans back up, letting his eyeglasses fall to rest against his beard, hanging from their beaded chain. “She is completely fine,” he assures the children. 

“But-” the boys start, determined to make sure their friend is okay.

Albus sighs, understanding their fears. “I’m afraid this is my doing,” he admits. Mallyn looks up at this, wondering what ever could the headmaster have to do with her. She’s never even met him before now, only seeing him once prior at the feast. “Your grandfather came to me many years ago and asked for my help in concealing a certain truth about yourself from yourself, at least until the time was right, don’t believe today was what he had in mind, but it is so very hard to control things such as time, especially from beyond the grave,” he tells them. He claps his hands together once, lightly. “You all should be on your way, wouldn’t want to miss the arguably most exciting class,” he says, smiling. The two redheads of the bunch start to argue, but Mallyn pulls at their robes, silencing them. “I’ll send word to Professor Rakepick explaining your tardiness,” Albus calls after them. He turns to leave, pausing for a moment. “Oh, and Miss Smyth, if you have any questions, feel free to stop by my office and I shall try my best to answer any that I can,” he says, choosing his words carefully. With a wave, a paper airplane shoots out of his sleeve, flying down the hallway. 

The children turn and follow, losing track of the paper airplane only once, then relocating it as soon as they turn the corner. Only one door is in the expansive hallway, chattering audible from the crack under the door. Fred pushes on the heavy wooden door, stopping as more than eighteen sets of eyes fall to him. 

Patricia stops her introduction, staring at the intrusion. “Two Weasleys, and Smyth, I presume?” she calls from the front, the skull she had been talking about hovering above her open hand. Fred steps aside, revealing Mallyn and George. “Are you three going to stand there all day?” she questions. She waves her wand, pulling the three into the classroom, the door slamming shut behind them. “Take a seat, there’s two free chairs up front, one in the back,” she says, turning her attention back to the skull. She snatches it, placing it carefully on the stack of books on her desk.

Before the twins can react, Mallyn moves forward and slides into the empty chair at the back table, leaving the two at the front up for them. Fred gawks at her for a moment then smirks because it’s exactly what he would’ve done if it was anyone but his twin standing beside him. 

Unenthusiastically, the twins move around the back table, dropping into the two empty seats at the front one that were left empty for a reason. They were directly in front of the professor’s desk and it’ll be nearly impossible to do anything but be on their best behavior.

Patricia surveys the room, pausing on the three latecomers. “As I was saying, I myself am a former graduate of Hogwarts, proud Gryffindor of the class of seventy five, I went on to work for Gringotts as a Curse Breaker, or professional adrenaline junkie to some,” she says, smirking at her own joke. “I’ve traveled the world, seen one of everything,” she announces, knowing it was just the right bait to entice someone into asking. Five hands shoot into the air. “Yes?”

George puts his hand down, “Is it true that you killed a Sphinx with your bare hands?”

“Or that you ripped the tail off a Manticore?” Fred questions while still wildly waving his hand in the air.

Patricia laughs, truly and deeply, the kind that requires your entire body. As her head reclines backwards, her hair skims the top of her desk and moves in waves from the force of her laugh. “A lady never tells,” she says, smiling at the disappointment on the students’ faces, “but then again, I’ve never fancied myself much of a lady, got into my fair share of trouble during my days here, I’m sure McGonagall has quite a few stories that she’d prefer not to share, wouldn’t want to give any of you ideas,” she says, winking once.

“Why give all that up to work here?” Alicia questions when Patricia gestures to her.

“Because I wanted to enrich the minds of children, you are the future after all,” she says, holding back her laugh long enough to enjoy the shock on every student’s face. “Kidding,” she promises, smiling as half of the class relaxes. “If you were paying attention at the feast, you’d know that I have been stationed at Hogwarts for over a year as a favor to Professor Dumbledore, he actually found me in Brazil where I was exploring the newly-discovered ruins underneath Castelobruxo, and he practically begged me to return to try and finally solve the mysterious case of the Cursed Vaults,” she tells the class, all the children leaning forward in anticipation. “When I attended school here, I had my own suspicions about the Cursed Vaults, but was horribly under skilled and prepared, but now, I am older and wiser and have no doubt I will be be successful in finding the Cursed Vaults and unveiling the secrets within as well as ending the threats they hold over the school,” Patricia tells them. She scans the room, holding eye contact with each of the twenty students for a moment. “That being said, I must urge all of you to be forthcoming with anything you believe having to do with them, or anything else for that manner as after all I am here as but a humble servant of the greater good and to keep you safe as possible while furthering your magical educations,” she says. Patricia waits a moment for the words she’s spoken to truly settle into the students’ brains. “Onto a lighter note,” she announces, sliding off her desk and pulling out a cage from beneath it, “this darling right here is Sickleworth,” she tells the class, cooing at the creature within the wire cage. The ball of black fur unfurls from itself, revealing a long cream colored snout. Patricia sticks her index finger into the cage, scratching his belly with the tip of her acrylic nail. “He’s a love, incredibly sweet and utterly destructive. Anyone tell me what he is?”

“Niffler!” Lucy calls. Mallyn leans forward, finally spotting her roommate at the far end of the front table.

Patricia nods, “Very good, and what do Nifflers do?”

Adrian raises his hand, but answers before the professor can even realize, “They’re attracted to shiny things which make them helpful for locating treasure.”

“Yes, and this particular one is very good at his job,” she says not to the class but to Sickleworth, “but very defiant when it comes to following orders, not unlike myself." She unlatches the cage, grabbing the small creature and pulling him out. He dangles from hand, holding on tightly to the two gold rings on her middle finger. Patricia gently removes him from her hand, setting him on her shoulder before handing over her rings for him to play with. The small creature's eyes get wide as he takes in the sight of the silver rings, quickly tucking them into his belly pouch. “I’m afraid we only have a few more moments together today so before we go, a quick overview of what we’ll be covering in this class,” she announces as she pushes some papers around on her desk, finally withdrawing a single sheet of parchment. “Imps, Ghosts, Hags, Gytrashes, Vampires, Zombies, Curse of the Bogies, Knockback Jinx, Wand-Lighting Charm, which if I remember correctly Professor Flitwick will also be covering, Smokescreen Spell, Verdimillious Charm and Duo Spell, Verdimillious Tria, plus the difference and when to use Red Sparks and Green Sparks,” she reads, double checking she didn’t miss anything. “Oh, and ten points to Slytherin, yes?” she questions. Lucy and Adrian nod. “Five each,” she confirms, tossing the syllabus behind her. The door shoots open, dismissing the class. 

Mallyn quickly exits, not wanting to give the twins the chance to try and drag her off to the infirmary again. She hurries down the halls and out of the building before all the other students are even out of their chairs. She spots the glass building in the distance which motivates her to move even faster. She pushes on one of the glass doors, relaxing only when it’s securely shut behind her. “Hello, dearie,” a warm voice calls from the other end of the room. Mallyn looks around, trying to find where it came from. Sprout emerges from behind the wall of various plants, her attire blending seamlessly into her surroundings, the green of her gardening coat the same shade as the leaves and her hair the same dull brown as the flowers. Sprout crosses the room, revealing herself to Mallyn. “Are you in this class?” she questions, dusting her hands off on her coat then offering the cleanest one to the girl. 

Mallyn shakes her hand, making sure not to grimace at the feeling of the wet soil against her skin. “Yes, I’m Mallyn Smyth,” she introduces. Sprout retracts her hand, offering the girl a handkerchief. Mallyn gratefully accepts it, cleaning off her hand and handing it back to her professor.

“Any relation to Helga Hufflepuff?” Sprout questions as she digs around in the pockets of her coat.

Mallyn shakes her head, “Not that I know of, my dad’s a Muggle,” she explains.

Sprout pulls out a square of parchment, tapping it once with her wand. The tiny square expands into a regular sheet, each of the students' names printed on it. “Ah, never mind, I see you spell it with a y,” she murmurs, putting a checkmark next to her name. “Dearie, why don’t you pick a spot, some of your classmates are almost here, but lucky you, you get first pick,” she says, waving her hands to get Mallyn to move. 

Surveying the room, she chooses a spot in the middle, picking up the gloves and earmuffs, inspecting them closely. Before she can question the need for earmuffs, her classmates start filing in. George and Fred make a beeline for her, settling on either side of her, with Lee on the other side of George and Lucy claiming the spot next to Fred. 

“Come in, come in, don’t be afraid to squish in, yes, yes, gather around,” Sprout calls, waving her hands wildly. “For those not in Hufflepuff, I am Professor Sprout, your Herbology teacher, and this is Herbology One,” she announces, surveying the first years. “Over the course of the year we’ll be learning about Devil's Snare and Venomous Tentacula in theory only, Venomous Tentacula practically is in year six, we’ll also be dealing with Puffapods, Moly, Asphodel, Dried Nettles, Dittany, Wormwood, Mandrake Roots, Aconite, Bouncing Bulb, Spiky Bush, plus the basics of Fire-Making Spell and Lumos Solem Spell which are essential for all Wizards and Witches,” she explains, each of the plants hovering over their heads as she lists them off. “I’m going to pass around a piece of paper, please sign next to your name to check out the gloves and earmuffs you’ll need from this year forward and it is your responsibility to keep up with them, or you’ll regret it, especially when we get to repotting the Mandrakes next year,” she tells them. She watches as some of the students pick up their new tools, trying them on for size. “Well, shall we begin?” she asks, clapping her hands together. A seemingly normal plant lands in front of each of the students. “Now, please watch carefully, and do not repeat after me,” she instructs. Placing her wand against one of the leaves, she mouths Diffindo, and the leaf falls from the plant, a nice clean cut dividing it in half. 

“Why didn’t you wait for us?” Fred questions while watching the professor out of the corner of his eye. She just looks at him and he knows the answer. 

“Professor Flitwick will be teaching you how to properly use the Severing Charm next year, so for now, we will have to stick to the good old fashioned tools and do it by hand,” she says, picking up a pair of oddly shaped scissors from the table. “Now everyone please pick up the herb scissors and snip off half of a leaf on your plants.” All around the table, each student carefully accesses their plants, deciding on the best leaf to start with. As the last one snips, everyone holds their freshly cut leaves in the palms of their hands. “And now you all have the first ingredient necessary for your potions tomorrow,” she tells them. With a wave of her wand, glass vials pour out of the cabinets, settling in front of the students. “Best take a few extras each in case you need to start fresh,” she says. Carefully, they all snip a few more and set them into the vials. Mallyn holds it up in front of her, eyeing the small green leaves, preferring them to the mysterious items in jars in the Potions classroom. “Make sure you take care of those and pack them away safely, I know from experience that Professor Snape is not lenient when it comes to missing ingredients, no matter the reason.” Almost all the students take heed, only Fred, George, and Lee ignoring her warnings and simply dropping them into the inner pocket of their robes. “That ends the lesson for today,” Sprout announces. “I hope your first day was all that you expected and more, I will see everyone same time, same place tomorrow,” she says, smiling widely at her new students. She dismisses then with a wave of her wand, the double glass doors opening.

Students flood out of every available door, breathing fresh air after the first day of classes. Mallyn holds on tightly to her bag in her hands out of fear of smashing her vial accidentally. The boys cheer, dramatically taking in a deep breath as if they had been trapped in a submarine for a year. The group chatters about their plans, but it turns into white noise once it reaches Mallyn’s ears. She watches as the scenery changes as they move as a group. Looking down the hallway, all she can think about is the peace that the quiet of her room is offering in the distance. “You guys have fun, I really just want to take a nap,” Mallyn says, nodding her head to the vacant hallway. Everyone stops to look at her, Fred’s face dropping. 

“I’ll come with you, a nap sounds great right now, who knew the first day could be so draining?” Lucy says. The two bid adieu to their Gryffindor friends then set off down the hallway, descending the staircase at the end of it.

Mallyn has every intention of retrieving her journal from its hiding space in the wall the second Lucy falls asleep, but before Lucy can ever sit down, Mallyn is unconscious, clutching her pillow against her. Lucy waits for her response for a moment before looking over her shoulder for an explanation to the silence. Smiling, she crosses the room and pulls the curtains of Mallyn’s bed, sealing her off in the darkness before following suit and climbing into her own bed where she falls asleep but a moment later. 


	9. eight

Fred and George lock their arms under either of Mallyn’s shoulders and pull her with them towards the Great Hall. She tries to stop them, pushing her heels into the stone as hard as she can but they might as well be dragging a pillow with how effortlessly they pull her along with them. “Guys, stop,” she says, still struggling against their grips. They stop moving but don’t release her. “Let go,” she groans, prying at their fingers to no avail.

Fred and George share a look before looking down at her. “Are you going to audition?” Fred questions, narrowing his eyes at her as if he’d be able to ascertain a lie from a truth just by focusing.

Mallyn stares at him, mimicking his face as best as she can. “If it’ll make you drop it,” she states. 

George releases her from his grip, “We will never bring it up again.” He holds out his pinky to her for good measure. She returns the gesture, wrapping her own around his and shaking once.

Mallyn is left with Fred still gripping her arm, suspecting her plan to make a break for it. “Fine, fine, I’m going,” she groans, letting her head fall backwards. Her words satisfy Fred, finally relinquishing his grip on her. She continues forward, stopping when she hears their footsteps following behind her. Turning over her shoulder, she glares at the twins. “Why are you following me?” she questions the pair.

“You think we’d let you audition without moral support?” George teases.

“What kind of friends would we be?” Fred adds, putting his hand over his heart.

“Good ones,” she snarks, flicking them each on their foreheads. Taking her comment in stride, they step forward, placing themselves on either side of her. 

“Shall we?” Fred asks, tilting his head towards the Great Hall.

George loops his arm under Mallyn’s, not like before, but just simply keeping them together. “We shall,” he declares, but waits for her to move forward. Sighing, Mallyn steps forward, stepping into the Great Hall. 

There’s less students at the tables than usual, probably not wanting to bear witness to the auditions or be coerced into joining at the choir director’s request as he is famous for. “Students, students, what a lovely turnout!” Filius cheers, clapping his hands a few times. The seven students looking to audition gather in front of the professor, standing back just far enough to be able to see him without looking down. “Do we have any volunteers to go first?”

From the back of the room, there’s a chorus of Mallyn’s name.

Before she can shoot her friends a glare, Filius is calling her forward. “Lovely, lovely, no need to be nervous, dear,” he promises, sweeping out his hand to encourage her to step up on the singular platform. Mallyn steps up and takes a deep breath before turning to face the room. “What will you be performing for us?” Filius questions, his smile taking up almost the entirety of his lower face as he slides onto the bench in front of the piano.

“Do you know Your Song by Elton John?” Mallyn asks, sticking to her safe choice as she knows the song by heart, having performed it every year for her parents on their anniversary every year since she was five.

“Afraid I’ve never heard of it,” Filius mutters, racking his brain, “it’s a Muggle song, I’m assuming.”

“Yeah,” she nods, looking at the piano. Surprisingly, it appears to be a standard grand piano, no magical modifications made, at least not by looking at it. “I can play,” she says, looking at the piano more carefully. 

“While singing?” Filius questions, his amazement written clear across his face.

“I performed it for my old school’s talent showcase just a few months ago,” she says, remembering how happy and proud her parents had been, all for playing a four minute song that’d they had heard her play a hundred times before.

“Please,” he says, sliding off the bench and leaving it open for her. 

She slides onto the bench and places her hands on the keys. She tests her reach, practicing the opening line in her head. Take a deep breath, she centers herself then presses down. Her fingers move across the keys, her voice waiting on it’s cue. “ _ It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside, I'm not one of those who can easily hide _ ,  _ I don't have much money, but boy if I did, I'd buy a big house where we both could live _ ,” she takes a breath, her fingers playing a few keys before she resumes. “ _ If I was a sculptor, but then again, no, or a man who makes potions in a traveling show _ ,” she sings, smirking at the new meaning, wondering if that was one of the reasons her mom loves the song so much. “ _ I know it's not much, but it's the best I can do _ ,  _ my gift is my song, and this one's for you _ .” As her fingers dance across the keys, her mind drifts for the briefest of moments, but she quickly forces it back to the task at hand. “ _ And you can tell everybody, this is your song, it may be quite simple, but now that it's done _ ,  _ I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind that I put down in the words, how wonderful life is while you're in the world _ .” Mallyn relaxes for just a moment, allowing herself to forget the people watching and just lose herself in the music. “ _ I sat on the roof and kicked off the moss, well a few of the verses, well they've got me quite cross, but the sun's been quite kind while I wrote this song, it's for people like you that keep it turned on _ ,” she sings, pausing for a moment, “ _ So excuse me forgetting but these things I do, you see I've forgotten, if they're green or they're blue, anyway the thing is, what I really mean _ ,  _ yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen _ .” Listening to the notes as she plays, she fights the urge to look down at the keys, choosing instead to look at the wall of windows opposite of her. “ _ And you can tell everybody this is the song, it may be quite simple, but now that it's done, I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind that I put down in the words, how wonderful life is while you're in the world, I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind that I put down in the words how wonderful life is while you're in the world _ .” Mallyn closes her eyes as she plays the final few notes and takes a deep breath. The moment after a performance is always the worst in her opinion. The drop after the euphoria from allowing her soul to express itself always leaves a nagging feeling in the bottom of her heart, sometimes migrating to her stomach and forming a pit.

Nearby clapping draws her attention. She forces her eyes open and spins on the bench, cringing at the dull clap the new soles of her shoes make against the stone. “Wow, wow, I was not expecting you to, your voice,” Filius cheers, his eyes still wide in shock, stuttering to find his words.

“My teacher’s have always said the same thing, ‘what a voice out a tiny little thing,’ usually,” she says, biting her tongue a second too late.

Filius does not take it to heart, his smile dropping at the obvious disappointment on the young girl’s face. “I promise you I won’t be making that comparison,” he assures her, laughing full heartedly. “That was truly excellent, but I’m afraid to say that we don’t require another alto, we’re looking for two sopranos,” Filius says, wording it as to not offend her as her talent is obvious. “Can you sing that range?” he inquiries 

“Not without strain,” Mallyn says while shaking her head.

Filius thinks it over in his mind. Her voice truly is lovely and the first student he’s met who is able to play the piano while singing without it affecting one or the other. He’s never said it aloud, afraid of the repercussions for many years, but he’s always felt that music sounds better when it is performed by a person, not an enchantment. “Perhaps in a year or two when some of our other members graduate,” he tells her.

“Of course, thank you for the opportunity,” she says just as she has rehearsed many times in front of her mirror, all in practice for when it is required of her, after every audition or performance, no matter the type, even in that trivial debate class her father insisted she take last year. She nods once more before sliding off the bench and descending the single step down from the platform.

Trying not to show her disappointment, she plasters on a large smile as she approaches her friends, whose faces show none of the sorrow she’s feeling.

Fred reaches out and pulls her down to the table, sitting right next to him. “I know I said that you'd be a great songwriter, but that was amazing,” he exclaims, his awe holding her attention. 

It takes a few seconds for her to process what he said. She shakes her head, “That was a Elton John song,” she says. She looks around, only the girls at the table showing any sign of recognition. “Seriously? What do you guys listen to?” Mallyn questions.

“Eh, there’s the Weird Sisters, the lead singer graduated from here last year, Spellbound,” Lee says, chewing on a chip as he tries to think of other bands.

“Oh, my mum doesn’t like them, doesn’t like all the scandals,” Alicia says, shaking her head, cringing at the memory of her mother’s rants on the outfits the band members don for their performances to the lyrics in some of the songs.

Lucy thinks for a moment, trying to remember the names off the albums in the bookcase at home. “There’s The Bent-Winged Snitches, they’re American, but their stuff is pretty good,” she says, closing her eyes as she tries to picture the other album covers.

Lee cracks open a notebook, jotting down the names. He’s always on the lookout for new music. “The Hobgoblins have some good songs, but they’ve gone downhill since Stubby Boardman quit,” Lee says, quoting his father’s and the general public’s opinion. 

“Stevie Nicks is my favorite,” Alicia says offhandedly, picking at the chips on her plate.

Mallyn turns to look at her over her shoulder. “She’s a witch? I mean, she’s always been witchy, but oh my God this makes so much sense,” she exhales, trying to process the information while also thinking of other bands. “Queen?” she thinks out loud.

“The Queen of England?” George questions, his face scrunching up. 

Mallyn laughs, shaking her head, “No, the band, you know, Queen, Queen,” she repeats in disbelief. She can’t even begin to comprehend that anyone in the world doesn’t know who Queen is, let alone people who’ve grown up in the same place as the members themselves.

“Not that I know of,” Lucy answers.

“Damn,” Mallyn exhales. Her money would’ve been on at least the lead singer and the guitarist. “Madonna?” she questions.

Lucy shakes her head, “no, but Siouxsie Sioux is, not her real name, of course.”

“As in Siouxsie and the Banshees?” Mallyn asks in shock. Her entire family loathes the band, the entire genre of music really, but Mallyn’s always been a fan, listening in secret of course, behind the school on a friend’s Walkman or at the record shop around the corner from her family’s apartment.

“Yeah, the singer and bassist both were in Slytherin actually,” Lucy adds, suddenly wondering if any of the older students would remember them, or at least heard any worthwhile stories.

Lee’s head suddenly shoots up over his notebook, “Jimi Hendrix!” he exclaims. “He graduated from Ilvermorny,” he tells his friends. George reaches across the table, snatching the notebook out of Lee’s hands, squinting to read the tiny scribbles. Lee lunges back at George, missing the edge of his notebook by an inch, but landing on the edge of the bowl of tomato soup. The red soup splatters everywhere, covering George’s entire head. 

Everyone else slides away, barely avoiding the onslaught of thrown food. A handful of chips narrowly misses the top of Fred’s head. Safe on the opposite end of the table now, Angelina and Lucy discuss their favorite album, finding their love of The Beatles in common, while Alicia watches in amusement at the fight between Lee and George. Fred pushes his plate that he had saved from his brother’s reach towards Mallyn, silently offering her some of his remaining chips. She shakes her head, unable to even think of eating at the moment with her stomach still in knots.

Fred leans over, taking a chip off the plate. “Even if it wasn’t yours, I liked the song,” he whispers, watching his brother out of the corner of his eye.

“Elton John is my mom’s favorite singer, swears that song was playing when she and my dad met,” she tells him, thinking of how her mother smiles every time she tells the story, her father always sporting a matching one, “he can’t recall, was too busy rehearsing what he was going to say in his head that he wouldn’t have heard a train coming at him, his words.”

“Does he have any other songs?” Fred questions, picking up one of the remaining chips.

She has to stop herself from laughing, knowing that he really doesn’t know any better. “Tons, he’s a great songwriter,” she tells him.

“What’s your favorite?” Fred asks.

Mallyn doesn’t even have to think about it, “Tiny Dancer,” she answers. “I’ll play it for you some time,” she promises, finally taking a single chip off his plate.

He’s about to ask her to do it now as he spots the empty piano behind her, but he glances at the clock, only five minutes until Transfiguration. “We gotta head to class,” he says, knocking his head back towards the doorway of the Great Hall. 

Mallyn looks around, noticing other students getting up and slowly filing out of the large room. “I hope we get to use our wands today,” she says, thinking of her own wand laying at the bottom of the pocket in her bag. 

Lee and George finally break apart, Lee emerging victorious with noticeably less food on him and his notebook in his hand. George on the other hand has food dripping off him from head to toe. Angelina squeals as she walks by, dodging his attempt to splatter her with the tomato sauce on his hand.

“What the bloody hell happened to you?” Bill exclaims, his eyes bugging out at the sight of one of his younger brothers covered in food. He steps into the Great Hall, blocking George’s attempt to flee.

“Disagreement,” George answers, avoiding eye contact.

“Attempted thievery!” Lee claims, proudly holding his notebook above his head and running circles around George. 

Bill sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Truly the only thing that should surprise him is the lack of food on Fred. “Both of you, hold still,” he orders, removing his wand from his cloak. He waves it once, removing all the food from their uniforms and hair. “Ten points, each,” he announces as he tucks his wand away.

“You’re gonna take points from your own house?” George exclaims.

“If he doesn’t, I will,” a cheerful voice calls. 

Another deep sigh escapes Bill. “I’ve got it handled, Lyn,” he calls out, ignoring the growing presence behind him. 

A short girl, barely taller than Mallyn, with artificial black hair steps next to Bill and rolls her eyes. “My friends call me Lyn, you Weasley call me,” she says, popping her gum. She chews on it for a second, deliberating her words. “Actually I’d prefer you don’t speak to me, but if you must, Jocelyn will suffice, Miss Webb, if you’re feeling official,” she declares, blowing a bubble then popping her gum once more.

“I have this handled,” Bill states, trying his best not to show his frustration. 

Lyn rolls her eyes again, “Whatever you say, Weasley.” She pops her gum again as she accesses the two boys standing in front of them, somehow making them both feel small despite being taller than her. She turns on her heels, returning the shadows she’d emerged from with her two friends. 

Bill resists the urge to call her by another name, keeping his eyes on the children in front of him. “Go to class,” he orders, walking away to go to his own.

George and Lee take off down the hall, arguing over who’s fault it is. Angelina, Alicia, and Lucy follow closely behind, offering their opinions and much to George’s dismay, all three side with Lee. Mallyn and Fred follow closely behind, laughing at the ridiculous arguments arising in front of them. 

“What about Lyn for your nickname?” Fred asks, testing it out in his head. 

“There’s already a Lyn, we just met her,” Mallyn says, furrowing her eyebrows at the ridiculous suggestion. 

Fred jumps in front of her, blocking the doorway to the Transfiguration classroom. “But she’ll be gone next year,” he argues. 

Mallyn’s face falls. “Do you not like my name?” she questions, not tearing her eyes from Fred. 

He shakes his head, “No, no, I just, everyone deserves a nickname,” he tries to explain, hating that he accidentally hurt her feelings. 

“Well, you keep thinking and let me know,” she declares, moving under his arm and into the classroom.

The remaining four classes of the day pass by in slow motion, each of the four teachers assigning reading while the students are chomping at the bit to use actual magic. The closest they’ve gotten was the first day when they levitated feathers in Charms. Since then it’s been all reading and taking notes. 

The final bell of the day rings and the boys gather their things in a hurry, unceremoniously tossing their things into the pockets of their cloaks and rush out the doors. Fred comes to halt, the other two boys crashing into his back. He makes a u-turn and sticks his head back into the Herbology greenhouse. “Charlie will meet you outside your common room to take you to the creatures meeting!” he yells at Mallyn, sprinting off in the opposite direction.

Mallyn doesn’t even have a chance to ask what time before Fred’s already gone and completely out of sight. She scoffs as she shakes her head, tucking her gardening tools into her bag and slinging the bag that grows heavier by the day over her shoulder.


	10. nine

“Why is the Weasley Gryffindor Prefect waiting outside?” Astrid yells as soon as she steps inside the common room, the door sealing itself behind her. Her hard gaze scans the room, daring anyone to answer.

Swallowing her nerves, Mallyn tucks her History of Magic textbook under the velvet wing back chair she’s reclining in and spins so that she’s sitting upright, her vision blurring for a moment as her body readjusts to being right side up. “He’s taking me to the Magical Creatures Club meeting,” she explains, standing up to hold her ground.

Astrid sighs, staring at Mallyn from across the room. “It’s bad enough you're friendly with the ones your age, now you’re going out of your way to be buddies with the older ones,” she declares, her ruby red lips in a tight line. 

“They’re purebloods,” Mallyn defends, assuming that’s the issue. 

Astrid shakes her head, her chandelier earrings rattling from the sudden movement. “That’s not the issue, it’s a matter of class,” she says, tossing a look over her shoulder to where the door to the common room forms then turns back to look at Mallyn, “and they have none,” she sneers. She pushes past Mallyn, hopping over the backside of the couch and sinking into the plush cushions. 

Mallyn frowns at the statement. She’s met all five of the Weasleys currently at Hogwarts and can ascertain no difference between them and any of the other students, but she knows from personal experience uniforms don’t hide everything as adults hope. The slightest difference in brand, color, quality can set off warning bells in the elitists. Mallyn stands in front of the wall, waiting only a second before the door opens. As soon as it opens, she’s met with the sight of Charlie leaning against the opposite wall, his hand stuck in the pockets of his denim jacket, his red and gold Prefect pin stuck on the collar.

“Ah, there you are,” Charlie says as he watches her step through the hole in the wall. He pushes himself off the wall, meeting her halfway.

Mallyn pulls on her down jacket, fiddling with the zipper until it goes up. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were out here,” she says, finally looking up at him, doing her best to use full sentences unlike the first time they met. She mimics his position, sticking her hands in the pockets of her jacket. 

Charlie shrugs, “I figured, my little brothers aren’t the best at details, they’re more big picture types,” he says, chuckling at his own statement. “Shall we?” he questions. 

Mallyn nods, following him as he leads the way out of the lower levels. Once they’re on the main level of the school, their pace automatically slows down. “Thanks for doing this,” Mallyn says, unsure of what to make of his silence.

“No problem, I know how confusing the castle can be and how intimidating it can be to try and join clubs as a first year,” Charlie says, remembering his own first year well, and he at least had an older brother looking out for him. “Are there any other clubs you’re interested in?”

She shakes her head, trying to remember exactly what other clubs exist at Hogwarts. “I auditioned for the choir but,” she says, letting her words trail off. She hadn’t even really wanted to be in the choir, but the rejection still stung.

“Eh, for the best,,” he shrugs. Mallyn wishes she could be so nonchalant about it. “You didn’t hear it from me but it’s kinda a snooze,” he admits, “I was in it my first year.”

Mallyn stops moving, standing still to look at him, waiting for him to crack a smile, but he doesn’t. “Really?” she questions, laughing a bit. 

“Oh yeah, voice of an angel,” he chuckles, removing his left hand from his pocket to tap against the front of his throat. “Whole family is really, even Percy, although I haven’t heard him sing in years.” Charlie tucks his hand back in his pocket to protect it from the cool night air. Mallyn pulls at her own coat, zipping it up as far as it can go. “Mum tried to make us into a band when we were little, but I think she would’ve tried anything to keep Fred and George distracted, came up with some completely bonkers ideas to keep them busy so they wouldn’t destroy the house,” he laughs, remembering all the different schemes. Charlie pauses, looking around as if checking for any eavesdroppers, staring at the hut for a moment. “They nearly burned the house down one time, although I played my role in that, tried to Transfigure them into dragons,” he admits, unable to help the smile that grows on his face, or the twitch of his nose at the mere mention of the memory. “Do you like dogs?” Charlie questions, looking out into the forest.

“Love them,” Mallyn answers, unsure of how a dog fits into the story.

He takes off, winding his way behind the hut so Mallyn follows. They stop a few feet from the largest dog Mallyn’s ever seen, his fur as black as the night sky above them. “Meet Fang,” Charlie states, smiling at the beast.

Mallyn looks at Charlie once before moving towards the dog, dropping to her knees and scratching behind his ears. “Fang? Aren’t you just the most handsome boy? Bet your bark and bite are something to fear,” she coos, scratching behind his ears. His back left leg lifts off the ground, shaking violently to scratch at his side. 

Charlie laughs, holding his stomach. “You didn’t even hesitate,” he says, laughing in between each word.

Mallyn looks over her shoulder at Charlie, smirking, “Why would a Gryffindor Prefect lead an innocent first year to her death? Besides, like owner, like pet,” she remarks. Mallyn turns her attention back to the dog as he flops over, displaying his belly to her for scratching. She obliges the beast’s silent request and drags her nails along his ribcage.

There’s an echoing thud as the back door of the hut swings open. The quarter giant who resides there emerges, carrying a torch in one hand, a blanket covered cage in the other. “Charlie, there you are!” Hagrid calls as soon as he spots the red head. His gaze falls to his dog, smiling at both him and the girl next to him. “And you brought a friend!”

Mallyn looks up, extending her free hand to him. “I’m Mallyn,” she greets.

Hagrid bends down and sets his torch on the ground then returns the gesture while squinting at her. “We met the other night?” he questions. She nods, trying her best to control her bulging eyes. Sitting on the ground, he seems even taller than the other night. Hagrid straightens up, a loud crack echoing in the night as he stretches. “Well, come on, about to get started,” he says, waving the hand with his torch.

Charlie offers Mallyn a hand up, patting Fang on the head once before following after Hagrid. “What do you have in store for us tonight?” Charlie asks, his fingers itching to get his hands on any creature other than the garden gnomes that plague his mother’s gardens.

A deep rumble escapes Hagrid, “Oh just you wait,” he promises. Mallyn and Charlie step around the house, joining the four other students all sitting around the open fire on logs. Hagrid turns his back to the group for a moment, fiddling with the cage. He turns back around, proudly holding a little blue bird the size of a biscuit in the palm of his right hand. “I’d like all of you to meet Rowena, named her that since her feathers look like the crown in her portrait,” he announces proudly, the three royal blue feathers sticking out of the top of the small bird’s head curl forward, jutting out like jewels. “She is a month old Hoo-Hoo bird, cousin to the more commonly known Phoenix,” he states, gently petting the bird’s back with the pad of his index finger, “they come from Japan and when full grown are only as big as a cat but when agitated can produce a flame that can wipe out a small house.”

“Like yours?” the boy sitting next to Mallyn questions, audibly gulping nervously. 

Hagrid’s eyes shift from the brunette boy sitting on the log to his hut. “Well, yes, but no need to worry, Bruce, I’ve had her since she was an egg, she’s a domesticated Hoo-Hoo, or at least will be when I’m done training her,” he states, moving his finger to scratch under Rowena’s chin.

Taylor raises her hand, the glint of the lion ring on her thumb catching in the light of the fire. “Are you going to teach her any tricks?” she questions, smiling at the small creature.

“She’s already great for keeping my tea warm,” Hagrid says, surveying the six in front of him. “Anyone like to hold her?” he questions. Charlie bumps Mallyn’s shoulder with his arm, offering her an encouraging nod. Mallyn stands up. Hagrid offers her a big smile, bending down to make them more level. “Just hold out your hand and if she likes you, she’ll hobble on over,” he instructs. Mallyn follows his direction, sticking out her hand and placing her fingertips next to his palm. “Look at that,” Hagrid quietly cheers as the bird crosses from his hand to hers. Mallyn stares down at the little creature as it stares back at her. She’s careful not to jump when a puff of smoke escapes her beak, looking up to Hagrid for instruction. “Good, good, she likes you,” he promises. Rowena moves around on her palm, taking in the scenery more than anything else. “Anyone else?” Hagrid questions. Charlie stands up, poking his head over Mallyn’s shoulder. “Of course, you want to Charlie, this is the closest you’ve gotten to a dragon in a few years, huh,” Hagrid laughs. 

Charlie sticks his hand next to Mallyn, smiling as the creature migrates from her palm to his. “She looks like a miniature peacock,” Mallyn whispers, carefully petting Rowena’s back. “Do wizards have peacocks?” she questions, hoping he knows what she’s referring to.

Charlie shakes his head, some of his hair escaping from the string containing the rest, the tendrils falling around his face as he looks down at the bird. “Not typically, although I’ve heard rumors the Malfoys, Pureblood family, have a few running around their properties, but pretty much all Wizard and Witches know what a peacock is, they’re majestic creatures,” he explains as he tickles the bird’s underbelly, earning a little coo from it.

“They’re crazy,” Mallyn tells him as he passes the bird off onto Bruce. “A few years ago, my class went to the London zoo and one of the peacocks got loose and chased Jimmy Thomas up a tree, literally,” she says, laughing at the image of him in her mind of him hanging off a limb as the bird snaps at his feet. Charlie sits back down on the log, holding his hands out to the fire. “The zookeepers hadn’t realized she’d laid an egg and then Jimmy got a little too close,” Mallyn tells him as she follows his suit and holds her hands out to the fire. “I think it served him right, he shouldn’t have tried sneaking off,” she mumbles as she tries not to shake from the cold seeping into her even through her jacket.

“Little sneaking off every now and then can be good,” Charlie whispers, “unofficially of course.”

“Of course,” Mallyn teases, bumping her elbow into his side. 

Rowena makes her way around the group, taking well to everyone except Ainsley, a second year who screams the second a puff of smoke exits the bird mouth and catches the end of her long brown hair, scaring Rowena enough to fall to the ground. There was no damage, but it freaks her out so much she runs back to the castle crying about how she can’t pull off a bob. Hagrid dismisses the group as he chases after Rowena, assuring her everything is fine as he tries to corral her back into her cage. With Charlie and Mallyn’s help, the three of them finally corner Rowena against the side of his hut. Hagrid scoops the tiny bird into his massive hands, cooing comforting words to the small creature. Hagrid retreats into his hut, offering a silent good night to the students before slamming the door behind him.

Charlie sticks his hands back in his pockets, his fingers numb from the cold. “Need me to walk you back?” he asks, jerking his head towards the castle.

Mallyn shakes her head, breathing into her hands. “Can you just point me in the direction of the library? I just want to look for a book before it closes,” she says, surveying the large castle in front of her. She can’t even imagine how many rooms there are in the building and she’s barely seen a fraction of them.

“That way,” Charlie points, directing her to the castle entrances on the far right. “Straight shot down the hallway then a left, but better hurry, the Matron locks up at ten,” he tells her before hurrying off across the courtyard. 

Mallyn pushes on the heavy doors, exhaling in relief for the warmth in the building compared to the nipping wind outside. She walks down the long hallway, stopping to look at the display cases along the way. A couple exclusively for quidditch, MVP’s and house victories over the years, then another for student awards. At the end of the hallway, torches light the way to the library, a set of glass doors revealing the expansive room of books. She pushes on one, slipping inside the room. Standing still, she looks out into the room, completely in awe of the seemingly endless rows of bookshelves. She winds her way down the first few, laughing at a few of the titles on the spines, completely avoiding the more scary looking ones, including one that seems to be glowing, an eerie red haze hovering around it. Mallyn stops in her tracks when her eyes find a great big one, laying sideways on the shelf, the text on the side reading ‘History of Europe’s Magical Families and Suspected Origins’. She tugs on the heavy book, cradling it against her chest as to not chance dropping it. On the next row, she finds another, ‘The Black Family Prerogative’, along with ‘Purebloods? Halfbloods? What About Me?’. She adds them to the growing stack in her arms, the limbs starting to lose feeling from the weight. Unable to take it anymore, she makes her way to a table, carefully setting the books down on the wooden table top, and spreads them out. Despite her better judgment, she pulls the biggest one close to her and cracks it open, scanning through the introduction. She pulls a fresh sheet of parchment from the stack at the end of the table, along with the quill and starts jotting down notes. The family trees start to come to life before her, the information within the hardback covers only adding more questions instead of answering any. She’s a quarter way through the book before there’s even a mention of the Blacks, the first part mainly the author rambling on about how nothing is truly concrete, including the Sacred Twenty Eight, an anonymous list that was spread amongst the wizarding community in the thirties, comprised of twenty eight last names, Black and Burke being only two of them. Mallyn stares down at the list, recognizing only four as her eyes focus on the name Malfoy, Charlie having mentioned it only an hour before and remembering the name had been mentioned on the train. 

The words on the page start to blur as Mallyn’s head grows fuzzy and lolls forward, her chin dropping against her chest before her entire body sags forward, slumping onto the large book.

Mallyn awakes with a jolt, her heart pounding and her head buzzing. She looks around, unsure of her surroundings until she remembers she’s in the library, although she’d never be able to tell with all the lights out. The lack of light through the windows tells her it is late, later than she should be out. Scrambling, she gathers the papers and books in front of her, carrying the heavy load in her arms. Carefully, she moves towards the doors, stopping at the desk and leaving a note with the titles of books she’s taking, then continues towards the doors only bumping into a chair once before the double doors are in front of her. Mallyn spins around, using her back to push open the doors just enough for her to slip through. As soon as she’s free, it closes with a dull thud, but the sound echoes down the empty hallway. Mallyn looks to both sides, trying to remember which way she’d come from only mere hours ago. Truthfully, neither way sounds familiar, but she makes her choice, turning right. She keeps walking until she reaches a wall, once again forcing her to make the choice between left and right. With fifty-fifty odds, she takes a left.

“Mallyn?” Charlie questions, giving the girl a fright. She drops the work in her arms, the leather bound books and free papers scattering all around her feet. She looks around, searching for the source of the voice. She smiles when she sees Charlie at the very end of the hallway. Mallyn drops to her knees, trying her best to reorganize her papers. “What are you doing out of your dorm?” he questions, bending down to help her gather her things.

“Fell asleep in the library,” Mallyn mumbles, shoving some of the papers into her pockets. Charlie holds out one of the books, waiting for her to take it. “What time is it?” she asks, rearranging the books to fit in her arms then taking the one from him.

Charlie looks at his wristwatch, squinting at the tiny numbers. “Little after midnight,” he says, bringing his watch closer to his face to be sure. Mallyn tucks the last book under her arm, standing up carefully. Charlie looks around, double checking that they’re alone in the hall. He knows that technically this should cost her points and a detention, but his heart aches for the young Slytherin, being thrown into a world she knows next to nothing about and no one will give her a straight answer about, plus he’s never one to seek out a reason to deal with the Head of Slytherin. “Best be on your way back,” he says, knocking his head towards the path she had been on before he’d interrupted. She follows his gaze, but remains still.

“I don’t know how to get back,” she quietly admits, clutching the books to her chest. Charlie nods, remembering well how easy it is to get turned around in the castle, especially at night. He waves his hand, silently urging her to follow him. She jogs to catch up, slowing to a brisk walk in order to keep up with his strides. “Thank you for this, and everything else,” she tells him even though she’s already thanked him for saving her life every time she’s seen him. “Can I ask you something?” she questions. Charlie tilts his head to look down at her, nodding once. She bites on her bottom lips for a second, trying to figure out if now is the right time to do this. Rarely one to hold back, she bites the metaphorical bullet. “Why do you hide your nose piercing?”

Charlie chuckles as he reaches up and rubs at the tip of his nose, smiling as the cool metal hidden just within his nose brushes against his finger. “You saw that, huh?”

“When you were helping me up,” she tells him, “I pieced it together later when I remembered one of the upper girls at my old school had one she kept hidden.” They walk in silence for a minute, before Mallyn finds the courage to speak up again. “Are they not allowed here?” she asks. Her old school had a strict no body modifications rule, students weren’t allowed to paint their nails, wear makeup or dye their hair. A few girls got away with it every year, claiming the summer sun lightened their hair or that the winter air made it look like they were wearing lipliner, but anything else had to be hidden under clothes, hair, or in a pinch, bandaids.

Charlie tilts his head back and forth, “They are, just not,” he sighs, unable to find the words.

“You’re a Prefect, you’re supposed to be a role model student,” she answers for him. He nods, grateful she understands without needing him to spell it out for her. “Did someone here do it?” she asks.

Charlie stands still, looking around to make sure they’re still alone. “Why, you interested in one?” he asks, tilting his head as he looks at her.

“I’ve always liked them,” Mallyn admits, trying to imagine what she would look like with one. Right now she only has her ears pierced, once in each lobe, as it is all her parents allow, thinks anything more looks trashy, her mother’s exact word.

“Maybe in a few years, you’re only eleven,” Charlie reasons, thinking of the absolute fit his mother would have if she were to find out about his own nose piercing or if he helped a first year mutilate their body, not even wanting to begin to think about the repercussions if any of the teachers found out.

Mallyn crosses her arms, “Twelve on the twenty ninth,” she defends.

“Happy early birthday,” Charlie chuckles, her stance amusing him.

Mallyn drops her arms, realizing that she’s being ridiculous. Of course twelve is too young, she legally wouldn't even be able to purchase the jewelry for it for another year. On the other hand, she is a Witch, she could figure out how to conjure the tools and transfigure her earrings. “Can I see it?” she asks. Charlie obliges, reaching up and flipping down his nose ring. Mallyn presses up on her tiptoes to get a better look at the jewelry. Two gold claws, one on either side of the cartilage that separates his nostrils hold small glass balls, light grey smoke swirling around inside of them. “That is so cool, your brothers mentioned you love dragons,” she says, her mouth dropping open as the color of the smoke shifts to green. “Is that going to be your costume for the ball?” she asks breathlessly, watching as the color shifts again, this time to a vibrant orange.

“In a way,” he says, barely able to stay calm as he thinks of the costume coming to life in his dorm. He starts walking again, quickly descending the staircase down to the dungeon level of the school. “Well, here we are,” he announces, looking at the blank wall in front of them. “Don’t make a habit of staying out so late, you’re lucky it was me that found you,” he warns, looking down at Mallyn. “I’m surprised the Matron let you stay,” he admits, but his thoughts are elsewhere, the gas inside his piercing turning a brilliant yellow.

Mallyn wiggles around the books in her grasp, removing her wand from the inner pocket of her jacket. “I don’t think she realized I was there when she left, I didn’t even see her when I went in,” she tells him, stepping forward and tapping her wand against the stone, whispering the password under her breath. The doorway opens up, staying open as Mallyn sets one foot inside, one foot still on the stone of the hallway. She leans against the wall for support as the books grow ever heavier in her arms.

“She’s getting up there, not what she used to be, just don’t think Dumbledore has it in him to admit it, would mean admitting a few things about himself,” Charlie says, stopping himself before he can get too amped up. “Goodnight, little snake,” he says, turning to leave.

Mallyn forces her eyes to stay open, blinking slowly. “Goodnight, fire lion,” she calls as a yawn escapes her.

“Fire lion,” he hums, intrigued by the combination. Looking at her over his shoulder, “I like it,” he declares, smiling to himself at his new nickname.

Finding herself unable to pull herself away from the wall, she calls after his retreating figure. “Charlie, have you ever seen a real dragon, in person?” she questions, remembering Hagrid’s earlier words when handing off Rowena to him.

Charlie turns back around, coming to stop in front of her. “Of course, where you think I got the scar,” he whispers, pulling up the sleeve of his jacket just enough to reveal a burn about the size of a quarter on the back of his left wrist. “Night,” he tells her, gently pushing at her shoulder to go into the common room. 

She wavers, swaying back and forth for a moment before resting solidly against the wall again. “Your mom most definitely knows,” she says, rubbing under her nose with her finger, “if I can see it, I’m sure she can too,” she murmurs, knowing that at his mother’s height, if she stood where Mallyn is, she’d have a clear view of the underside of his nose. “When’d you get it?” she questions, turning her head to yawn into her shoulder.

“Last year,” he answers, watching carefully as she sways, ready to catch her if necessary. 

“I can wait until then,” she murmurs, her yawn distorting her words.

Charlie pushes on her shoulder again, backing her into the common room. “Think it’s time for you to go to bed,” he urges, taking the chance to peek at the décor. It’s about as he expected, colder though, the lack of fire surprises him.

Mallyn looks over her shoulder, the velvet couch looking very appealing even though her room is only a few extra steps away. “Night, Charlie,” she whispers, turning around carefully as to not lose her balance. “Sorry, one more question,” she mumbles, yawning again, “why were you out after midnight?”

Charlie leans against the doorway, keeping it open. “I take the night patrol in exchange for only afternoon classes, never been able to fall asleep before three anyway,” he answers, watching with concern as she stumbles across the room, barely able to stay upright. Charlie rushes forward, ignoring the door shutting behind him and sweeps his arms around him just in time to catch her from crumpling to the ground. “Are you okay?” he asks, looking down at her face as it grows paler and paler.

“Yeah, just feeling,” she mutters, words escaping her.

Charlie helps her over to the first chair he sees, taking the books from her hands and setting them on the table. “What have you eaten today?” he questions, knowing lack of sleep can’t be the answer. Mallyn watches as the gas within the piercing under his nose shifts colors rapidly, settling on black. She blinks a few times, expecting it to change again. He holds her face in his right hand, forcing her attention to him as he repeats his question.

“A chip,” Mallyn answers, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

“A chip? As in singular?” Charlie questions, his heart racing faster.

Mallyn nods, wanting nothing more than to go to sleep. “Yeah, Freddie,” she mumbles, letting her head fall back against the soft cushion of the back of the chair. She remembers hiding her book under the chair before she left earlier. She tries to sit up, her hands scrambling under the chair but Charlie pushes her back.

Charlie holds her back against the chair by her shoulders, “Fred gave you a chip? One chip?”

She blinks a few times, trying to process his words. “He tried to give me more, but I auditioned at lunch and my stomach is always weird,” she mumbles, the mention of lunch making her stomach gurgle.

Charlie looks around the room, searching for any spare food. There’s always snacks left around the Gryffindor Common Room, packets of crisps, biscuits, water bottles, but the Slytherin Common Room is bare of all food, of all signs of life really. Charlie sighs, turning his attention back to the girl in front of him, nearly unconscious at this point. He snaps his fingers in front of her, gaining back her attention. “Do you have food in your dorm?” he asks slowly, making sure she understands his words.

She shakes her head, knowing the only snacks she brought with her was the popcorn she took with her on Saturday. “Can I ask for it?” 

“Ask the room?” Charlie questions, unsure if she knows what she’s saying.

“Yeah,” she mumbles, “it changes to what we want, so can’t I just ask it for food?”

“I don’t know,” Charlie weighs his options. If he leaves her here alone, how will he get back in to get the food to her, but she doesn’t seem to have enough left in her to make it all the way upstairs and to the kitchen. “I’m going to go get you something from the kitchen, I need you to stay awake to let me back in,” he tells her, forcing her to look at him. 

She slumps further into the chair, a sadness taking over her features. “Don’t be mad at Fred, if he had known I hadn’t eaten he probably would’ve force fed me the entire table,” she tells him, both fully believing her words.

“I’m not mad, just promise me you’re going to stay awake to let me back in,” Charlie reiterates. Mallyn nods groggily, but pushes herself up in the chair. Accepting it’s as good as he’s going to get, Charlie rushes over to the wall, anxiously fidgeting as he waits for it to open. The second it slides open, he takes off in a run down the hallway and up the stairs, not stopping until he’s in front of the painting of fruit. He reaches forward, tickling the depiction of a pear and the frame of the painting swings forward, revealing the always bustling kitchen of Hogwarts. 

A house elf in a blue pillowcase stops in front of him, staring curiously. “Mr. Charlie Weasley, Sixth Year Gryffindor Prefect, sir, how may Timpkins be helping yous, sir?” he questions, wringing his wrinkly pale hands in front of him.

Charlie looks around, his nerves striking a new high at the bare tables. “I need a meal, something quick,” he explains, clenching and unclenching his hands as he tries to calm his racing heart.

“We has pizzas left over from dinners, sir,” he says, snapping his long fingers. A plate of slices of cheese pizza appears in his hands, extending it upwards to Charlie. 

Charlie gratefully accepts it, moving to turn then pausing and turning back to the house elf. “You can apparate within Hogwarts?” he questions.

Timpkins nods vigorously, his large ears shaking with each movement. “Of courses, sir, it allows us to do what Hogwarts needs,” he explains, looking around nervously.

Charlie sighs in relief, finally seeing an end in sight. “I need you to take me and this pizza to the Slytherin common room, can you do that?”

“Of courses, sir,” the house elf nods. He reaches forward, but hesitates, “many apologies I must touch you,” he explains.

Charlie reaches down, setting his free hand in Timpkins’. “Yes, yes, that’s fine, hurry, please,” he urges, hating to leave Mallyn alone for any longer than necessary. There’s an audible crackle in the air before the bright kitchen disappears from sight and the dark common room appears. Charlie releases Timpkins’ hand and rushes towards Mallyn in the chair, completely asleep. He holds the plate under her nose and waits as she inhales deeply, waking up to the scent of the pizza. Mallyn sits up, taking a slice from the plate and nibbling on it. As her senses sharpen, she looks around, aware of the surroundings, yelping when she spots the creature lurking in the corner. 

“Shh, you’re going to wake the whole bloody house,” Charlie laughs, falling to the ground with a light thump. He waves his hand to the house elf, inviting him over. “This is Timpkins, he’s one of the house elves that works here at Hogwarts,” he explains.

“Thank you for the pizza,” she murmurs, unsure of exactly what to make of the odd little creature. His yellow large eyes overpower all the rest of his features, even though his ears are quite large for such a small frame. 

The house elf nods rapidly, “Of course, miss, it is Timpkins job, a house elf’s duty, honor.”

Charlie reaches for the plate, retrieving a slide of the pizza for himself. “Could you bring us some juice?” he asks before taking a bite out of the pizza. It’s lukewarm, but tolerable and Mallyn doesn’t seem to have any complaints.

“Of courses, sir,” the house elf states, disappearing with a snap, only to reappear a moment later, two glasses of apple juice floating in the air above his open hand. “Here, sir,” he says, passing off one glass to Charlie, the other to Mallyn.

Mallyn sips on her juice, savoring the sweetness. She can’t remember the last time she had juice without watering it down. Charlie watches as she downs the juice, mildly worrying that she may accidentally drown herself in the process, but a minute later she sets the empty glass down and reaches for another slice of pizza. Charlie turns his attention to the house elf, offering him a kind smile. “Thank you, Timpkins, I think that is all, you are free to leave,” he tells the creature.

Timpkins bows slightly, “Of courses, sir, miss, thank you, sir, miss,” he says then disappears again with a single snap.

Charlie shifts on the floor, leaning back against the chair. He flops his head backwards, looking up at Mallyn as she nibbles on the same slice of pizza. He knocks his head into her leg, drawing her attention down to him. “How come you didn’t eat breakfast?” he questions as he chews on his own slice.

Mallyn stares at him for a moment, focusing on the pink of the gas instead of the concern in his eyes. “Not a morning person,” she tells him. Not the complete truth, but not a lie either.

Charlie frowns at her, sensing the anxiousness within her. “You can’t go a whole day without eating, this is why you fell asleep in the library, your body’s got nothing to work with,” he says, knowing all too well. Everyone in his family shares little in common besides their red hair and that fact that they are all nothing if not passionate, all forgoing eating or sleeping at least once in their life for the sake of something else.

“Charlie,” Mallyn murmurs, drawing his attention back to her. He lets his head fall to the side, resting against her knee. “Thank you,” she says, knowing that they both know it’s for more than just tonight.

“Anytime, kid,” he teases, but it is a promise nonetheless, one that he will keep if he has any say in it.


	11. ten

Mallyn slides into her seat, almost falling off as the old wooden stool wobbles beneath her as Fred retracts his foot from the bar connecting the legs. Fred shifts in his seat, turning to face her. He sits there, a smile on his face while he waits for her attention. Sensing his gaze, Mallyn shifts every so slightly, letting him know she’s listening to whatever he has to say. “Have fun last night?” he questions, trying to conceal the amusement ricocheting around within his restless mind and body.

“Tell Charlie it won’t happen again,” she mumbles, still not looking at Fred. She digs around in the largest pocket of her robe, withdrawing the honey granola bar that she had found waiting on her bedside table when she woke up. Tearing at the wrapper, she sticks the first square into her mouth, raising her left eyebrow as she chews the grainy material. Fred doesn't say anything, just turns his attention back forward, happily listening as she chews under the growing chatter within the room. She sticks the second square in her mouth, wishing she had water to wash it down with. As soon as the bar is finished, she holds out the wrapper in the palm of her hand to Fred. “Happy?” she questions. 

He takes the wrapper, jokingly inspecting it for crumbs. “Positively ecstatic,” he announces. He balls up the wrapper, sending it flying into the waste container in the corner of the dark room with a wave of his wand. “Now if you plan on passing out again, give me a heads up, I’ll make sure my arms are free,” he teases, bumping his elbow into her arm.

“You’re welcome to use mine as well,” Lee calls from behind her.

“And mine,” George adds, resting his chin on his interlocked fingers.

“Great,” she deadpans, ignoring their increasing offers of chivalry.

Fred waits a moment, tilting his head as he watches her. “Will you sing that song at lunch today?” he questions. Mallyn ignores him, choosing to distract herself by rummaging around in her overstuffed bag. Fred slumps forward on the table, turning to look at her. “You promised,” he whines, puffing out his bottom lip. 

“And I will, just not today,” she mumbles as she drops her bag onto the ground with a dull thump. She leans forward, resting on her palm and keeping her attention on Professor Snape as he starts rambling about something, the words all turning to static the second they reach her ears and somehow she manages to keep her eyes open despite her exhaustion feeling like a weight tugging on her eyelids.

Fred pushes himself up, mirroring Mallyn’s posture. “You have a great voice,” he whispers.

Mallyn turns her head ever so slightly to look at him, appreciating the small smile his lips form as he stares at her. She turns her attention back to the front, untucking her hair from behind her ear and prays that Fred doesn’t see the blush she can feel heating up her cheeks and ears. “Thank you,” she quietly responds, careful not to take her eyes off the menacing professor. She sighs deeply, turning her eyes to the chalkboard, but not having the energy to get out a piece of parchment and quill to copy them down. She can get them from someone else later, she silently rationalizes. “Answer’s still the same,” she whispers, knowing Fred’s still waiting.

“You don’t even have to sing loud, I just want to hear the song,” Fred pleads quietly. She doesn’t respond, using all her energy to stay awake. Fred slides his seat a little closer to hers. “Tomorrow morning then, hardly anyone uses the Great Hall before first period,” he whispers.

“Wonder why,” she mutters, covering her mouth as she yawns. 

Her yawn is the final straw for Severus. He crosses the room in less than a second, stopping right in front of her. “Is my lesson not entertaining enough for you, Miss Smyth?” he drawls, the boredom in his voice sounding how she feels.

“No, sir, the twelve uses of dragon blood,” she says, double checking the board out of the corner of her eye, “is absolutely fascinating, I’m just afraid I didn’t sleep very well last night,” she tells him, sitting upright in her seat and folding her hands in her lap.

Severus tilts his head, examining her before reaching into his cloak and retrieving a note. “Yes, I imagine breaking into the library will do that to a night’s well rest,” he states as he releases the note, letting it flutter down to the empty space in front of Mallyn. She picks up the note, recognizing her own rushed handwriting. “You are to take all the books you took back to the library as well as serve out a week’s detention with Matron Pince for your choices,” he states, glaring down at her.

“Yes, sir,” she sighs, not having the energy to even try to explain what actually happened. 

Severus’ jaw clicks as he tenses before turning around and resuming his position at the front of the room. “As I was saying,” he states, his narrowed eyes finding Mallyn as he hits the chalkboard with his wand, “dragon blood for a long time was entirely underused as well as undervalued as the uses were not understood, but thanks to our own Headmaster, there are now twelve uses officially recognized by the Ministry, the ones of which concerns you in this classroom is how it can be used within potions,” he explains, the chalk writing out the twelve uses, then crossing out seven of them, “particularly when used in spells related to love, protection, and banishing, as well as healing potions which is what we will be focusing on today until next Friday.” He turns away from the class, selecting a single vial off his desk. He turns around, holding it up for the class to see the sickly green liquid within the glass vial. “Today we will begin to work on the potion used by even the best Healers at St. Mungo’s for curing stomach ulcers, and that Madam Pomfrey has available should any of you need it during your schooling here,” he announces, waving the bottle around so that every student can get a good look at it. “Directions are on the board, get started, one potion per a table by end of class,” he states, tucking the vial into his cloak and retreating to his office.

Fred sits up and drags the caldron forward, groaning at the stale odor wafting out of it. 

Mallyn retrieves her book, flipping through the pages until she finds the words Stomach Ulcer Aid printed in swirly cursive. She presses her finger to the page, skimming down to the ingredients. “Single tablespoon of fresh honey, teaspoon of finely grinded turmeric and ginger, two drops of infusion of Wormwood, one drop of essence of dittany, and a drop of dragon’s blood,” Mallyn reads, frowning at the page. Her finger presses into the fine paper, the thin paper crumbling under the pressure as she glances at the board making sure the words match.

Fred leans over to try and see the page, but the words are unreadable from the creases. “What?”

“It’s cruel,” she mutters, retracting her finger and slamming the book close, “I’m assuming the dragons don’t just hand over their blood.”

“Of course not, they’re beasts,” Fred scoffs, realizing that was the wrong decision when Mallyn’s hair hits him in the face as she whips her head to face him.

“Are they, or have they just learned that in order to stay alive they must be beastly?” she questions, her face growing more tense.

“I don’t understand what’s happening right now,” Fred whispers, not understanding her question or the look on her face. Dragons are monsters, that’s a fact of life, nothing more, nothing less, even his dragon loving brother knows that.

Mallyn sighs deeply, trying to ground herself in the present moment. She picks up her book, flipping it open to a random page. “I’m vegetarian, I can’t use dragon blood or Flobberworm mucus, or a Scarab beetle, I won’t,” she states, flipping through the pages, her eyes catching on the ingredients that make her stomach drop.

“What’s vegetarian?” he asks, never having even heard the word before.

Mallyn turns to look at him thinking he’s kidding, ready to berate him for making a joke out of something so serious, but there’s no trace of a smile on his face, just concern. “I don’t eat or use anything that a living thing had to die for,” she explains. He nods once, but she can tell he doesn't understand. She turns to face him completely, “Okay, so the honey is fine because bees don’t die to create it, it actually benefits the environment to use the honey otherwise there’d be a surplus and they could literally drown in it.” 

He nods once slowly, trying to process it. “What about plants?” he questions, trying to remember what his mother had taught him years ago about how plants make their own food. 

“Plants are living, but not in the way that I meant, they don’t have a heartbeat, a soul, they can’t scream as they’re being murdered,” she explains, trying to make it as simple as possible.

“Tell that to Mandrakes,” he mutters under his breath.

“What?” she questions, her eyebrows shooting up.

“Nevermind,” he says, shaking his head. Fred stares at her for a moment then pries the books out from under her fingers. “How about I handle the ingredients and just tell you how much to add, when,” he suggests, holding the open book close to his chest, “that way you won’t have to know which is which.” Mallyn narrows her eyes, suspicious of the plan. Hesitantly, she nods, agreeing to at least giving his plan a fair chance. He races from his seat, moving over to the shelf in the corner and selecting vials. Returning to the desk, he sets all the vials with the label facing towards him, carefully making sure she can’t see the writing. Mallyn fiddles with the caldron for a minute before withdrawing her wand and pointing it under the bottom of the caldron.

“Incendio,” she whispers, smiling as a small flame erupts under the hanging caldron.

One by one, Fred hands her ingredients and reads off the amount and directions, watching as Mallyn completes it. “Okay, now it just has to simmer for ten minutes, stirring it once with your wand every two and half minutes while reciting patientiam, fortitudo, salutem,” he instructs, setting the book down on the desk.

Mallyn sticks her wand into the mixture, stirring the potion once clockwise while repeating the incantation. She removes her wand, wiping it on the sleeve of her cloak. Mallyn sits down and leans forward, resting her chin on her knuckles while watching the green smoke rise from the potion. “Stamina, strength, health,” she whispers, repeating the words to herself again, Fred watching with interest. “Latin was required at my old school,” she answers to Fred’s unasked question.

“Did you get in trouble much at your old school?” he asks. “You now have more detentions than I do,” he points out, looking at her out of the corner of his eyes.

“Not for long,” she teases.

Fred scoffs, bumping his hip into her. “Is that so?” he questions, mocking disbelief.

“What can I say, I believe in you,” she tells him, looking up at him through her lashes. She reaches forward, stirring the potion again, reciting the incantation. Fred turns around, checking in on his brother’s and Lee’s potion. The bubbling liquid within their caldron is a few shades darker than his and Mallyn’s. Lee bends over the pot, his face a mere inch from the rim. He sticks his finger into the mixture, withdrawing it from the cauldron and sticking it in his mouth. Lee’s face contorts the second the potion touches his tongue, severely more bitter than anything containing honey should ever taste. George follows suit, sticking his finger into the cauldron, watching as the green liquid drips off it and back into the pot. He tries to pull his finger to his mouth, but finds it caught in an invisible force field. 

“Mr. Weasley,” Severus calls from the front of the room, his wand pointing at the back of the classroom, holding George’s hand away from his face. Severus crosses the classroom, all eyes following him. “Unless you wish to follow Mr. Jordan to the infirmary, I would suggest rethinking your choice,” he declares a moment before Lee collapses to the floor, his eyes rolling back into his head. Students scramble out of their seats, peering over each other to get a look at Lee. He sits up, rubbing at his throat before turning to the side and throwing up the bit of green potion he consumed along with everything else in his stomach. Severus releases George’s hand from his spell, turning quickly and facing the classroom, glaring at all the students. “Everyone, eyes on your potion unless you wish to find yourself in the infirmary with burns when it explodes from being left alone a second too long,” he instructs, the hem of his cloak whooshing against the stone flooring as he turns back to George, who is still nervously hovering over his friend. “Mr. Weasley, you and Mr. Jordan are done for the day, please escort him to see Madam Pomfrey and explain he sampled an incomplete stomach ulcer potion,” he states, the door shooting open with a wave of his wand. Fred rushes around the table to help, but Severus’ arm shoots out, stopping him. “I think one Weasley is all this situation requires,” he sneers, “although who knows, maybe he’ll come back with another and prove my theory that you self replicate.” Fred glares at the professor, his upper lip twitching as his mind races of possible payback for his comment. 

“Fred, what’s the next direction?” Mallyn questions, drawing his attention to her. He moves back to their table, picking up the book but his eyes glaze over, darkening with rage. Mallyn sticks her wand into the potion again, stirring for the last time. She turns to watch the clock count down the remaining two and half minutes, her eyes flicking between the clock and George as he loops his arm under Lee and pulls him up then they stumble out the door. “It’s done,” she announces. Fred mindlessly goes through the motions, standing up and removing the cauldron from the flame. Mallyn leans over and blows it out, watching the fire quickly die. She turns around and tries to take the cauldron from Fred’s shaking hands, but his hands are locked around the handles. “Freddie, let go,” she whispers, placing her hands under the handles. 

Fred looks down at her, blinking a few times before she feels his fingers relax. Working fast, she wraps her fingers around the handles and pulls it from him, setting it down on the table with a thud. Fred steps up to the table, pulling the caldron to his half. “I can do it,” he murmurs, picking up the empty glass vial and ladle, silently pouring one serving into the tiny container. He sticks the cork in it just as the clock at the front of the room rattles. 

Severus starts at the front row. He takes the vial from Lucy, holding it up to his face for close inspection while Tyson nervously grips his books, the cover creaking underneath the pressure. He uncorks the vial and smells it once. “Insulting,” he announces to the class, pouring the light green liquid back into the caldron. Tyson crumples forward, lightly hitting his head on the table. Severus ignores the boy, moving on. He repeats the process at each table, taking less than thirty seconds for each set of partners. “Surprisingly acceptable,” he tells Susan and Flora, glaring at the two Ravenclaws for their success. “Tolerable,” he admits to Cedric and Roger through tight lips. Kenneth and Theo earn a “Sufficient,” from the professor even though he breezes by their desk, barely stopping long enough to constitute any lack of movement. He pauses in front of Alicia and Angelina, staring into the cauldron. He picks up the vial at the edge of their desk, sniffing it twice before putting a dab of it on the back of his hand. The green potion dissipates into his skin, leaving it glowing. “Satisfactory,” he remarks, capping their potion and handing it back to Alicia. As soon as he’s gone, they turn to each other, sharing a look of surprise. Abruptly, he stops in front of Pomona and Fauna, glaring at their cauldron. “What is this?” he complains, picking up the ladle and sticking it into the mixture, withdrawing it a moment later, the spoon part having completely melted off, only the handle left. He drops it onto the table, glaring down at the girls, both too afraid to answer his question. “Offensive,” he tells them, “that is what it is, offensive.” He stands still for a moment, accessing the ingredients on their desk, trying to figure out how they could’ve possibly messed up so severely since there’s not a single corrosive ingredient in the potion. “I suggest you practice your potion skills unless you want to cost your house more than the twenty points you did,” he declares. He looks up, staring at Mallyn and Fred, the next table to be graded. He glides forward, accepting the vial from Fred’s now steady hand. Fred keeps his eyes on the professor while he examines the potion whereas Mallyn can’t find it in herself to look away from her hands which are now shaking. “Oddly fine,” Severus declares, putting the cork back in the bottle and holding it out to Mallyn. She quickly takes it, using all her focus on not letting her hands shake. As soon as he steps away, she sets it down on the table, sticking her hands under her legs. The echo of Severus slamming a book down in front of the two Slytherin boys startles half the room, Fauna falling from her stool to the ground, the seat rattling around until it settles down on the ground next to her. “Extraordinarily horrid, did you even read the instructions?” he interrogates Adrian and Cassius. Both boy’s eyes are wide, obviously having expected better treatment from their own Head of House. “Detention with me, tonight, where we will review your mistakes,” he states, moving away from them before anything else can be said. The two remaining students, a Hufflepuff and a Gryffindor, both prepare for the worst. Severus inspects their potion, finding no true fault with it, just not as good as it could be. “Fair,” he declares. Iris and Elfy’s shoulders fall as relief washes over them. Severus eyes the now empty table. He strides over, picking up the cauldron from Lee and George’s station. “Incomplete,” he says almost cheerfully as he pours the ruined concoction down the drain. Severus moves to the front of the class, turning around quickly to face his class. All around the room he sees faces of disappointment and embarrassment, but only one of pure anger. Ignoring Fred, he flips over the chalkboard, their homework written out in his own font, a combination of neat cursive and printing. “Be prepared first thing tomorrow to begin and complete the potion to stop bleeding on page twenty nine,” he announces, dismissing the class with a wave of his hand, watching as they file out. He waves his wand, each of the cauldrons moving over to the sink and dumping themselves out. 

Lucy catches up with Fred and Mallyn, walking in the space between them. “Merlin, him walking around grading, someone must’ve given him a thesaurus for Christmas or his birthday, if he celebrates either,” she mumbles, nervously twirling a strand of her hair around her wand, accidently getting some leftover potion in it. 

“Probably doesn’t, can’t imagine him finding joy in anything,” Fred grumbles, busy plotting revenge in his head.


	12. eleven

Mallyn steps into the library, the heavy glass door slamming shut behind her and sealing her to her fate in the eerily quiet room. The books in her arms seem to weigh even more than they did the other night, something she wouldn’t have thought possible, but the feeling in her arms had already faded from painfully staticky to irritatingly numb. Stepping carefully as she cannot see her feet, she moves forward and sets the stack of books on the edge of the old table. Her arms scream in relief as feeling rushes back to them. She watches as her fingers regain their color then retrieves the note from the pocket of her jeans, setting it on top of the tower of books. Mallyn raises up on her tiptoes and peers around, trying to find the librarian, but the only people she can see in the expansive room are a couple students still in their uniforms sitting at one of the tables a few dozen feet away. 

Matron Pince notices the small girl waiting in the distance and stalks forward towards her public desk, quietly closing her office door behind her. She stands there for a moment before clearing her throat, startling the first year. “Do you have anything to say for yourself, young lady?” she interrogates, pulling her slim rectangular glasses off her nose and letting them swing from the beaded chain around her neck until they fall still resting against her chest, the light streaming in from the windows reflecting a rainbow in the thick glass lenses. She sticks her right hand out, counting the offenses out on her fingers, “Out after hours, breaking into and out of the library to steal books from the collection, all before the first week is even done,” she says, part of her not even able to comprehend all of it. Mallyn doesn’t speak, just stares at the older woman as her young eyes grow wider, her fear building from each accusation. The Matron sighs, her head reclining ever so slightly and pinching the bridge of her nose, trying to smooth out the practically permanent indents on either side. “How did you even sneak in?” she questions, pulling the stack of books to her. “I lock the doors behind me every night,” she says while scanning the titles in front of her.

“I didn’t,” Mallyn promises, shaking her head vigorously, “I came to the library at seven.”

Matron Pince’s head whips up, “Impossible, I would’ve seen you,” she states, having been in her office until nearly eleven last night.

“I’m easy to miss,” Mallyn suggests, not daring to laugh.

The Matron looks down at the small girl, trying to access her statements as fact or fiction. “If I choose to believe you, it doesn’t explain how you got out,” she tells her, watching for her reaction, “I lock the doors when I leave and there are only three keys, I have one, the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall have the others, even Mr. Filch isn’t allowed in here unsupervised.”

Mallyn turns over her shoulder, pointing at the door she had used to leave last night, third from the left, “You must’ve missed the one I used, I’m sorry, ma’am, I don’t know what to tell you,” she says, hoping she believes her. The last thing Mallyn wants right now is to be thought of as a thief and a liar all before the first week is even over.

Matron Pince spins the books towards her then spreads them out in front of her. “Why these books?” she questions, her right index finger coming down on the closest one with a thump, “there’s plenty of others in this library worth stealing.”

Mallyn shakes her head, stuttering out her explanation, “I didn’t steal these, I borrowed them, why would I leave a note if I was stealing them?”

Matron Pince considers it for a moment; the girl did leave a note before leaving and students aren’t usually aware that the library is sentient and makes note in the large book in her office whenever one leaves the premises until much later in their careers, if ever, so unless she was playing at some reverse psychology attempt much beyond her years, she has to be telling the truth. “What is your name?” she questions, lifting up her glasses and setting them back on her nose. 

“Mallyn Smyth, ma’am,” she answers, nervously tapping her fingers against her legs, twisting the soft fabric in between her index fingers and thumbs.

The Matron peers down at the collection of books in front of her, all about the wizarding world and the families that make it up. “Muggleborn?”

“Halfblood,” Mallyn answers, “but might as well be, I didn’t know anything about practically everything until almost a year ago,” she explains, her cheeks flushing at the memory of her accidentally changing her sisters naturally pale yellow blonde hair to her own shade of dark brown in a moment of anger.

The Matron’s head tilts, “Your parents kept it from you?” she questions, her brows furrowing tightly at the revelation. Every year there’s a mix of Pureblood, although less and less each year it seems, increasing numbers of Halfblood, and always a fair amount of Muggleborn students, and even the rare cases of students whose parents leave the children to be raised by others unaware of their status, but she’d never heard of someone’s parent purposefully keeping them in the dark about their heritage and abilities. 

“My mother, yes,” she answers.

“Did she attend here?” Matron Pince asks, her knowledge of the students at Hogwarts only a step below the Headmaster himself, priding herself on her own little private rolodex of names and histories within her mind. Mallyn nods ever so slightly, unsure if she’s ready to dive down the rabbit hole with anyone other than the woman herself. “What was her name?” Matron Pince asks, her mind already thinking back to the possible names, going back at least a decade and half back since her mother would have had to have already graduated from Hogwarts in order to get pregnant.

She starts to answer, but realizes her answer would be useless since the name she’s always known her mother by isn’t one others would know. “Valentina Burke,” she tells her, watching as the lightbulb in the old lady’s mind goes off.

“Really?” she questions, her hand raising to cover her mouth. She stares at Mallyn, trying to find her mother’s face in hers, but she can’t, not in her eyes, nor her smile, not until Mallyn cocks her left eyebrow, silently questioning the older woman. Matron Pince nods once, seeing it now, questioning how she missed it before. She inhales deeply, the air clicking against her teeth. “Well, now your book choices make more sense,” the old woman declares, smiling to herself. She looks at the books down on the table again, mentally going through the contents of them. “May I recommend a few more to you?”

“Really?” Mallyn questions, unable to follow such the abrupt one eighty turn the conversation just took.

“It is anyone’s right, especially for people like us, to know where they come from, who they come from,” she tells the young girl. The Matron retrieves the small piece of parchment and scribbles a few more titles onto it then holds it out to Mallyn. She quickly grabs it, her eyes widening once more at the now fifteen book titles that may be just the thing to begin to unravel the truth. The Matron watches as Mallyn’s eyes shift back and forth across the paper. “Do you have anyone who can collaborate your story?” she questions, drawing the girl’s attention back to her. 

Mallyn thinks for a moment, Charlie’s kind face immediately popping up in her mind. She wonders if Charlie could get in trouble since she knows he technically should’ve reported her out for being out after curfew, but instead he was kind and helped her. “No,” she firmly answers, shaking her head once. 

The Matron assesses her for another moment, her eyes scanning the room once. “I am going to take you at your word,” she states, the young girl’s face lighting up. Matron Pince restacks the books and pushes them towards Mallyn, keeping her index finger on the leather cover of the top one. “Put these back where you found them and we’ll consider your detention served,” she declares, nodding curtly once then retracting her finger. 

“Really?” Mallyn gasps, not only looking a gift horse in the mouth but questioning it as well. 

“Yes, now go,” she confirms, waving the girl off. 

Carefully, Mallyn picks up the heavy stack and weaves her way through the shelves, setting all of them back where she had discovered them less than twenty four hours ago. She dusts her hands off in front of her then turns around and returns to the front desk. 

The Matron watches as Mallyn approaches, stopping a few inches from the table. “Yes?” Matron Pince asks, a hint of amusement brightening her aged features. 

“I’m done,” Mallyn declares, her fingers loosely intertwining behind her back as she waits for the other shoe to drop, for the Matron to announce she realized her error and has changed her mind in the mere minute since Mallyn left. 

“Well, unless you have something better to do, I’d suggest you go get them along with these titles,” she says, handing Mallyn another small sheet of parchment with six more titles on it. 

Mallyn doesn’t take her eyes off the Matron while she takes the sheet from her. “I can use them?” she questions. She wouldn’t have been able to predict how her detention would turn out even if she had tried.

“You may take them back to your dorm, if you please, they’re not in any high demand nor are they from the forbidden section, you are free to use them whenever and for however long you want, just please,” Matron Pince says, her face tensing up.

Mallyn nods rapidly, cutting off the old woman’s words. “I will take such good care of them,” she promises. She rocks on her heels, practically bouncing with excitement. “Thank you so much,” she whispers, clutching the two pieces of parchment close to her heart. She turns around, weaving her way back through the maze of tables and shelves. Standing in front of the largest of the books, she pulls it from the shelf and instead of immediately returning to her dorm, she takes the books and the sheet of parchment from her back pocket and sits down, continuing her ongoing chart of the Black family.

She sits at that table in silence for almost an hour before her concentration is broken by a hushed shout of her name. Mallyn looks up, searching for the source, scoffing when she sees a glimpse of ginger hair peeking out from between shelves.

“Found her!” George calls, poking his head out in between two shelves, books surrounding his head on either side. Fred’s head appears right above his, popping out and smiling when he sees Mallyn sitting alone at a table a few feet away.

Mallyn laughs at the intrusion, waving them over to her table. “Hey, guys,” she greets, looking up at the twins. Fred and George slide into the seat across from her. She stares for a moment, trying to make note of any differences, but she finds none and yet she knows exactly which one is which. She stares for a moment longer, trying to ascertain the reason but unable to. She quickly shakes the thought from her mind, remembering what she had been so caught in only a minute ago. She taps the book in front of her, the boys following her direction and looking down at the open book. “So get this, Percy wasn’t entirely right, I am a Burke and Black, but I’m also a Flint and Ogden, they invented Firewhiskey, and who knows what else, the records get spotty the further back you go,” she rambles, trying to show them the pages, but her hands refusing to move from the printed words, “and there’s some Black in your blood too, you're just as removed from the Black family as I am, by one generation, your father’s mother was a Black, but pretty much every Wizard or Witch is, or has one or the other, most likely multiple, but it’s all broken up by decades of marriage and children, I mean,” she says, shaking her head in disbelief at all the information she’s been able to gather over only two days.

“Okay, no more genealogy for you,” George grumbles, trying to shake the information out of his head.

“Merlin’s beard, your detention is reading?” Fred questions, pulling the book out from under her hands, slamming it close before she can protest.

George pulls at the piece of parchment from under her hand, “That’s just cruel,” he scoffs. She tries to stop it from moving, but only succeeds in smearing the fresh ink, ruining the names she had written moments ago. 

Smiles that can only be described as wicked grow on both twins faces. “Good thing we’re here to save you,” Fred declares, sparing a glance over his shoulder. 

Not even a second later, a loud explosion breaks the peaceful silence of the library, bookshelves a few rows down rattling from the force of the exploding snaps the twins had placed under the lowest shelves. Without a word, the twins high-five each other then turn their attention to Mallyn. Her mouth is wide open, staring at the disarray in the near distance. Books are strewn everywhere, a few even hanging over the guard railing on the second floor.

Matron Pince rounds the corner, searching for those responsible for the mess. A light huff escapes her lips as she tilts her head to relieve a bit of tension before marching towards the two gingers in the distance, their pride practically radiating off of them. “Mr. & Mr. Weasley, I presume,” the Matron remarks, her arms tightly intertwined against her chest. The twins tilt their heads back, looking up at the stern woman above them. “What possessed you to come in here and wreak havoc on my library?” she questions, her hands darting out to grab the backs of their t-shirts. 

Mallyn finally stops gaping and manages to mutter out a weak sentence. “I don’t have detention anymore.”

“What?” George and Fred question as the Matron pulls at their shirts, effectively yanking them out of the chairs.

“Yes, Miss Smyth has been cleared of all crimes, unlike the two of you,” Matron Pince states, tugging the boys along with her. Mallyn shoots out of her seat, quickly grabbing the book and parchment as she follows after them, only glancing down at the mess of the twins’ making for a moment. The Matron doesn’t stop moving until they’re all standing outside the library doors. She drops the twins’ shirts, letting them scramble away far enough to not be within reaching distance. “You know it’s a good thing actually,” she remarks, “Mr. Filch mentioned that he needed help in the dungeon’s tonight, it seems that Peeves misappropriated some leftovers from the first night’s feast and left them to rot in a few of the suits of armors,” she says, barely hiding her smirk, “lucky you two.” The Matron slips back inside the library, muttering under her breath.

“Lucky us,” the twins grumble, already dreading the task, but not ones to let anything damper their chipper spirits, George and Fred start discussing tactics, excitedly trading ideas on how to improve. 

“What did you do?” Mallyn questions, the words coming out in squeaks. 

“Set off exploding snaps,” Fred says offhandedly, his mind focusing on other things.

“We didn’t want you to be alone,” George explains in between explaining his theory to Fred that in order for more shelves to have fallen over, they should’ve spaced out the six exploding snaps on only one side to throw the piece of furniture off balance.

Before guilt can even try to root it’s way inside her, amusement takes over. She scoffs, loud enough to silence the twins bickering. “Well, now I’m going to be while you two are stuck in the dungeons all night,” she says, mocking anger. “Who am I supposed to sit with at dinner?” she questions, taking pride in the looks on their faces. “Oh, wait, let’s see,” she says, finally smiling, “Lucy, my completely sane roommate, or any of the other seventeen students in our year, or my favorite nonproblem causing Weasley,” she lists off, cocking her eyebrow.

Fred scoffs, his mouth hanging wide open in awe of her. “First off, rude,” he declares. He truly thought she had been angry with them but instead she stands there teasing them.

George steps forward, pushing his right pointer finger into her shoulder. “Second off, he won’t be at dinner, Quidditch trials start officially next week, he’s putting the final touches on his drills.”

Fred steps forward, pushing his left pointer finger into her other shoulder, her torso jolting back slightly. “Third of all, rude,” he reiterates. Mallyn rolls her eyes, turning and walking off. Fred and George follow after her, Fred slinging his right arm around her shoulders. “I mean, truly that cuts deeply, you wound us so,” he says, jokingly putting his right hand over his heart, pulling her into him. 

She shoves at his torso, forcing him to release her from his grip. “Where’d you even get your hands on something like that?” she questions as she pulls at her sweater, straightening it out.

“We have our ways,” George says mysteriously, Mallyn bursting out laughing at the way he contorts his face. 

Mallyn leads the way down to the dungeons, silently directing them to Filch’s office at the end of the dark and menacing hallway with her index finger. “Hold this, please,” she says, holding the heavy book out to Fred. She lets it drop into his hands then reaches up and pulls her wand out of her hair, her long brown locks unraveling down her back. Pointing the end at the blank stone wall, “Callidus, Gloria, Arbitrium,” she whispers, waiting for the doorway to open up. “Have fun,” she teases as she quickly grabs the book out of Fred’s hands and darts inside the Slytherin common room, the doorway sealing itself before either of the twins can get a good look. 


	13. twelve

Mallyn slips out of the opening in the otherwise solid stone wall, listening as it slides shut behind her and silences the chatter within the room on the other side, grateful to be as far away as possible from the room she had waited all night and well into the early morning to get into. She hightails it to the stairway, escaping the gloomy dungeon level for the basement then the main floor, sighing in relief when she sees the first ray of sunshine shining through the windows. She turns for the library, stopping in her tracks when she sees Fred and George lurking in the distance, their backs facing her. She turns around to leave, tensing up when she hears them calling her name. The twins take off into a jog until they’re right behind her. 

“There you are!” Fred exclaims, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and sticking his hand into her hair, ruffling it around.

“Yeah,” she laughs, silently cursing herself for leaving her dorm as she pulls herself out of his grip. She runs her hands through her hair trying to tame the mess Fred made of it only for George to pull her to him and repeat the process all over again. “What are you doing up so early?” Mallyn questions as she wiggles away from George, putting her hands up in front of her, warning them to stay back.

“It’s a beautiful day,” George states, mischievousness pulling at the corners of his lips as he steps forward. Mallyn steps backwards, desperate to avoid another nuggie.

“It is, be a waste for you two to spend it inside,” Mallyn says, hoping Fred forgot her promise. 

Fred steps forward, Mallyn taking another back as she’s intent on keeping a safe amount of distance between her hair and their hands. “We don’t plan to, just for a few more minutes,” he says, tilting his head down to look at her, his eyes darting over to the wide open doors of the Great Hall.

Mallyn backs away, one step further from the overbearingly large room. “I know I promised,” she stutters, nervously glancing into the room, the empty tables only calming her nerves slightly, “but I’m actually headed to the library.”

Fred’s face drops, “But it’s Saturday,” he points out, wistfully looking out the windows, the sunshine and green grass practically calling his name.

Mallyn sighs as she follows his gaze. “I know, it’s one of only two days that I can spend fully at the library and I focus better there than my dorm,” she explains, hoping they understand, but the twins just stare at her blankly. “I need the full day,” she states, her hands fidgeting at her sides.

“But it’s beautiful outside,” George argues, not understanding how she can possibly want to waste the day away in the stuffy library rather than take advantage of the beautiful day waiting outside. He wouldn’t seal himself in the library on a day like this, or any day for that matter, for anything less than the threat of death, well perhaps for maybe no quidditch for life, but that’s it.

Fred dramatically pouts, fluttering his eyelashes at Mallyn. “You promised to show me the song,” he whines, fluttering his eyes a few more times for dramatic effect. Fred lightly hits George’s arm with the back of his hand, silently asking for him to join in. George drops to his knees and interlocks his hands as he stares up at Mallyn with his bottom lip sticking out.

Mallyn shakes her head at the pure ridiculousness of them. “The Great Hall’s going to be so busy,” she whines, her fingers still restlessly tapping out an erratic beat against her leg.

George's eyes catch the movement at his current lessened height. “Not right now,” he promises, but can tell she’s still unsure. “If there’s more than five people, I promise, on the remainder of my hair and Fred’s, that we will let you leave no questions asked.” Mallyn weighs her options, including making a run for it, but she knows she would never be able to outrun one of them, let alone both. She nods once, sending George scrambling to his feet. Fred and George poke their heads into the room, the same cheshire smile growing as they turn back to face her. 

“Not a single person,” they confirm together.

Mallyn takes a deep breath. “I will play the one song I promised and then I’m going,” she states, her pointer finger wiggling between the two of them. 

George and Fred nod animatedly, agreeing to her terms. She moves towards the room, the twins on her heels. The three move quickly past the tables and to the front of the room. Mallyn takes a deep breath then moves forward, sliding onto the bench. She carefully raises the cover, revealing the white and black keys to her.

“Sure we can’t convince you to come with us?” Fred questions as he watches her inspect the piano, lightly dragging her fingers across the expanse of the eighty eight keys.

George drops down onto the platform, sticking his legs out in front of him then leans back, resting his weight on his hands. “We’re going exploring,” George explains, shifting so that his hands come to rest behind his head to cushion it from the uncomfortable wood beneath him. “Lee and Lucy are meeting us at nine by Greenhouse One.”

“I really need to go to the library, I need answers,” she murmurs as she keeps her eyes on the keys.

Fred plops himself down next to George and crosses his legs in front of him. “Well then, we better hurry before anyone shows up,” Fred says, nodding towards the piano. 

Mallyn places her fingers in starting position, takes a deep breath, then presses down. Her fingers quickly dance across the keys, playing the introduction to the song she knows by heart.

“How do you do that?” George questions, watching as her fingers move across the keys. Fred shushes him, urging her to continue. 

Mallyn starts like she always does, by taking a small breath before singing the first line. “ _Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band,_ _pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man,_ ” she sings, focusing on the way the wind outside the windows across from her moves the trees, swaying as if they were dancing to the song. Fred and George watch carefully, in awe of how quickly she gets lost in the music. “ _Ballerina, you must've seen her dancing in the sand, and now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand._ ” Mallyn doesn’t dare look at her friends as she plays the short instrumental break between lyrics, knowing no matter the expression on their faces, she would lose her train of thought and place in the song. “ _Jesus freaks out on the streets, handing tickets out for God,_ ” she sings, smiling at the words coming out of her mouth, “ _turning back, she just laughs, ‘the boulevard is not that bad’,_ _piano man, he makes his stand in the auditorium._ ” Holding the last note for a few seconds, Mallyn closes her eyes as her fingers move almost instinctively at this point. “ _Looking on, she sings the songs, the words she knows, the tune she hums,_ ” she sings, taking the words to heart as always and humming the tune under her breath while waiting for the perfect moment to transition from the gentle instrumental to the upbeat shift of the song. She presses a little harder on the keys than necessary, determined to hit every note just right. “ _But, oh, how it feels so real, lying here, with no one near, only you and you can hear me when I say softly, slowly,”_ Mallyn sings, her voice contradicting the last two words. She sways her head with the song, letting it fill her completely, _“‘hold me closer, tiny dancer, count the headlights on the highway, lay me down in sheets of linen, you had a busy day today’,_ ” her breath hitches for moment before she continues on the first repetition of the verse, “‘ _hold me closer, tiny dancer, count the headlights on the highway, lay me down in sheets of linen, you had a busy day today’,_ ” she sings, once again humming under her breath as the piano softens, going back to the ease of the beginning, nice and calm. “ _Blue jean baby, L.A. Lady, seamstress for the band, pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man,_ ” she sings, opening her eyes and watching the trees continue to dance to the music, “ _ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand,_ _now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand._ ” She plays the gentle instrumental then switches again to the more upbeat melody, but is more gentle on the keys this time around. Starting strong, she confidently sings, “ _oh, how it feels so real, lying here, with no one near, only you, and you can hear me when I say softly, slowly,”_ her heavenly voice steadily decreasing in volume as she has practiced time and time again, _“‘hold me closer, tiny dancer, count the headlights on the highway, lay me down in sheets of linen, you had a busy day today_ ’ _,_ ‘ _hold me closer, tiny dancer, count the headlights on the highway, lay me down in sheets of linen, you had a busy day today,’ oh ho ho,_ ” she sings, letting the last note hang in the air as she finishes out the remaining notes on the piano. Her fingers come to a stop after the final note, but she doesn’t dare remove them from the keys, or chance a look at her friends. “It sounds better with a full band,” she mumbles, replaying the performance in her mind and silently criticizing her near invisible mess ups that are nonexistent to her less musically informed audience.

Fred barks out a laugh as his face contorts in confusion, snorting slightly as he inhales too quickly. “Are you kidding us? That was bloody brilliant,” he exclaims, shaking his head in disbelief at her statement, he can’t imagine it sounding any better than how she just performed it. “Know any others?” he asks.

“I promised one song,” Mallyn declares, placing her hands on the edge of the key cover.

“Fine, fine, we’re not to back out of a deal,” George says, pushing himself up off the floor. He quickly slides onto the bench, stopping her from closing the wooden shelf. “Before you go, can you show me how you do that, if I was to touch those, it’d sound like a dying cat,” he explains, demonstrating by slamming his fingers down. 

Mallyn grabs at his hands to stop him from applying anymore pressure, “Don’t do that ever again,” she laughs, clutching his hands in hers. She looks down at the piano, readjusting his hands, “Here and here,” she instructs, setting his hands on the correct keys, gently laying hers over his. Fred watches as closely as he can without making it obvious how interested he is. Mallyn presses down on George’s fingers as if it were hers on the keys, a yelp of joy leaving him as she plays out a simple tune, guiding his hands every step of the way.

Fred can feel himself growing more jealous with each passing second along with the pain of his nails digging into his skin through his jeans. He pushes off the ground, planning on leaving them alone but Mallyn calls out for him. He watches in slow motion as she pats the empty space next to her. Careful not to appear too interested, he strides over and plops himself down on the bench. Fred leans down to get a closer look at the keys, carefully poking one of the black ones just out of curiosity. Mallyn repeats what she had just done with George by picking up Fred’s hands and placing them on the starting keys, pressing lightly into his skin to encourage the keys to play for them. He smiles more at the warmth of her touch than the beautiful music they create but he listens nonetheless. George watches intently as his brother’s fingers dance across the keys under her careful guide, only missing one note. 

Unbeknownst to the three, Bill watches from the entrance of the Great Hall, smiling to himself at how well his brothers are adjusting to their new home, and prays for everyone’s sake that Mallyn is more of an influence on them than the twins are on her. 

Mallyn finishes out the song, the final note hanging in the air before she speaks. “This is how my nanny taught me at first,” she tells them, closing her eyes and remembering the first time she sat at the old piano in her family’s apartment. “I remember just sitting and watching her for hours as she’d play song after song,” Mallyn reminisces, her mind shifting to the first time she played a song on her own, a much simpler one than any of the songs she can play now. She shakes herself out of it, laughing as both George and Fred try to replicate the music she had helped them make, but failing horribly, the piano just emitting one horrible screech after another at the clashing keystrokes. Bill flees as the first sour note hits him, turning and leaving in search of anyone straying too close to any of the suspected locations of the vaults. “If you guys knew how to play you’d be better than me, it’s easier when you have longer fingers, more reach,” she explains, demonstrating the reach of her own hands versus theirs. Mallyn lightly plays the introduction again, humming to herself. 

“What do the lyrics mean?” Fred questions as he tries to remember every word she had sung.

“Bernie Taupin wrote it when he and Elton John went to America for the first time, for their first tour there, it’s actually the first song on the album, Madman Across The Water,” Mallyn explains, “it’s a love song to his wife.” 

“Love song,” George repeats, frowning slightly since none of the words came across as love, at least in his mind. “Was the other one?” he asks, referring to the song she sang for her audition.

“Yes,” she answers hesitantly.

“Yes?” Fred questions, stopping his ghostly movements on the keys and looking at her.

She thinks for a moment, trying to decide on the right words. “Taupin was seventeen when he wrote it and had never been in love so he wrote about what he thought it would be like,” she explains, hoping he understands. 

“Oi!” Lee shouts from the entrance of the Great Hall, dramatically tapping his wrist. George shoots off the bench, racing towards him and tackling him to the ground. 

Fred watches, itching to go and joining the fun. “Is it not?” he asks absentmindedly, laughing when George manages to get a hold of Lee’s shirt and pull it over his head, blinding Lee from his next attack, a tickling blow to his exposed stomach. 

“Wouldn’t know,” she murmurs. Fred turns his attention back to her, frowning at her lack of an answer. She forces a smile on her face, “But for him, obviously not,” she says as she pulls the cover over the keys, “you can tell over the years that his opinions change.” Mallyn slides off the bench and quickly moves down the steps.

Fred follows after her, keeping his eyes on his brother and Lee, who are now standing upright, waiting at the entrance, their clothes only a little worse for wear. “After meeting his wife?” he questions.

“Yes,” she answers, failing to mention that most of the change was due to heartbreak, which Fred can sense in her hesitation. “When he wrote it, he was seventeen, naive to what love could truly be like,” she adds, hoping it satisfies his curiosity. 

He nods along, but doesn’t understand at all. His parents met when they started Hogwarts together, were dating by their sixth years, and got married right after graduation, and they’re still together after all the years and seven children. The pair reaches Lee and George, now accompanied by Lucy, all animatedly talking about where they want to explore. 

“Are you coming with us?” Lucy questions, smiling bigger than Mallyn’s ever seen before, revealing a missing tooth in the far left back side.

Mallyn shakes her head, “Headed to the library.”

“Again?” Lucy gasps. “You didn’t come back until late last night,” she says, having stayed up herself well into the night waiting for Mallyn to return. Lucy hadn’t dared leave their room to try and find Mallyn herself, the castle menacing enough during the day, let alone in the darkness of the night, not to mention the threat of detention if caught by a Prefect or teacher.

“Yeah, lost track of time again,” she lies, not wanting to involve her friends in the drama. “I’ll see you later though, have fun,” she says to all of them before leaving the small group to their own adventures in pursuit of her own.

Mallyn knows the way to the library by heart now, having spent the last two nights there. Before she knows it, she’s standing in front of the heavy glass doors, opening one just enough for her to slip through. 

Upon hearing the door open, Matron Pince raises her head from her notebook, her quill pausing on the last stroke of her final word. She closes the notebook, the end of the raven feather of her quill sticking out the top. The Matron waves Mallyn over, not getting up as she’s resting comfortably in her chair. Her hips are bothering her more and more with each passing day, despite the potion bottle sitting on her dresser that grows emptier and emptier as the days pass. She fears that the extra cold weather predicted for this winter will wreak havoc on her aching aging body. She wouldn’t be surprised if she were to wake up one morning and find her bones turned to dust in her sleep. “Your detentions have officially been revoked, cleared it with Professor Dumbledore myself,” she tells the young girl. The Matron bends down and slides the heavy stack of books out from under her desk and raises them up to Mallyn, the old leather creaking under her grip. 

Mallyn quickly grabs the books, taking them from the old woman’s shaking hands. “I want to apologize again,” she says, but stops when Matron Pince raises her hand to silence her.

“Their actions were not yours,” she corrects, a stern look on her face, extra creases added to her already plentiful number of wrinkles.

“No, but they only did it because of me,” Mallyn sighs.The Matron looks away for a moment then looks back to Mallyn. “My dear, for the rest of your life, people will blame you for things that you have no control over, I suggest you do not go around volunteering yourself,” she advises. Mallyn nods lightly, trying to fully process her words and take them to heart. “Which book shall it be today?” she questions, pointing her chin down at the stack of old books but keeping her eyes on the girl.

“Still working through ‘History of Europe’s Magical Families and Suspected Origins’,” she answers, tapping the spine of the bottom book, the largest of the five in her hands.

“Picking up where you left off?” Matron Pince questions, looking at the feather sticking out from between pages in the book. Mallyn nods, tilting the books back and forth so that her fingers don’t go numb. “Have you made any progress?”

“Some,” Mallyn answers thinking of the partial family trees back in her room safely hiding with her journal back in her room. 

The Matron watches as Mallyn’s face shifts from excitement to hopelessness, a blank veil dropping over her young face. She reaches out and places her hand over one of Mallyn’s. “It’s only been but a few days, give it some time, perhaps your mother will be more forthcoming when you go home on break, now that you’ve been properly introduced to our world,” she offers, hoping it can give the girl a bit of comfort for her obviously troubled mind. 

Mallyn nods lightly before turning and retreating to what is quickly becoming her table. The books hits the woodtop with a dull thump. She spreads them out in front of her, just staring at the covers for a moment before pulling the largest book to her and flipping it open to the pages she stuck her quill between last night. She grabs a new sheet of paper and the quill, dipping it into the tiny ink jar. “The Burkes,” she reads, sighing more deeply than any eleven year old should. She copies practically the entire chapter, not wanting to miss a single detail of the family history that has been kept from her. As with the families before them in the previous chapters, the Burke family tree seems to include at least one member from every known wizarding household. Her quill pauses as she stares at her mother’s name in the book, unsure of which to put in her personal records. Unable to choose, she puts both, separating the name her mother was born with from the one she chose for herself with a single dash of her quill, the two forever intertwined when they may as well be two entirely separate entities, for the girl that was Valentina Columba Burke no longer exists but in memory. 

“Hello, Little Snake,” Charlie greets, mockingly hissing at her. Mallyn looks up just in time to see him take a seat in the chair across from her, resting his elbows on two of the books. “Did the Matron tell you you’re all good?” he questions as he tries to read the upside down titles. “I told them I was with you, Timpkins confirmed it too,” he tells her, missing the way her eyes almost pop out of her head at the admission.

Mallyn’s head jerks up, shaking rapidly, “I didn’t tell them, Charlie, I swear.”

Charlie looks up, “I know,” he answers, the panic in her voice confusing him. “When I heard you got detention, I went to see Professor Dumbledore and told him,” he explains while flipping through one of the books before closing it. 

“Everything?” Mallyn questions.

Charlie narrows his eyes at her. “No, just what he needed to know,” he tells her while his eyes scan her. He reaches out and grabs the edges of the book open in front of her, her hands shooting out to keep it in front of her, not looking for a repeat of Wednesday night, realizing quickly where the twins might have learned some of their tricks. “Have you eaten?” he inquiries, tugging on the book. 

“No,” she states, ignoring Charlie’s stern glare that only an older brother could ever hope to achieve so flawlessly. “But I’ll grab something for lunch, I promise,” she assures him. She tugs on the book, but his grip doesn't lessen as he waits for an explanation. “I didn’t have time to get anything for breakfast since I was showing your brothers a song,” she explains, tugging on the book again but careful not to put too much pressure on the pages as to not rip them.

“A song?” Charlie questions, finally abandoning his grip. Mallyn pulls the book to her, watching Charlie’s hands carefully.

“Elton John one,” she answers, as she clutches the book safely against her chest, “I had promised Fred I would show him my favorite.”

Charlie leans back against the chair, crossing his arms in front of him. “I’m a Smiths person myself, but I can dig his stuff sometimes,” he announces casually.

Mallyn’s mouth drops open. “You know Muggle music?” she scoffs, leaning back and mimicking his posture.

“Of course, I’m not a hermit,” he answers, his lips quirking to the side, the exact same way his younger brothers’ do. 

“Fred and George didn’t know anyone I talked about,” she says, now wondering if it was just their idea of a jest, leaving her the fool at the center of a bunch of Wizards and Witches.

“Well then I’m glad they have you to show them, I had Tonks,” Charlie answers, forcing her worries aside. “Her dad-”

“Muggleborn, I know,” she cuts off. Mallyn stills for a moment, trying to think clearly. Carefully, she sets the book down and closes it before leaning forward and resting her elbows on the table. Charlie laughs before following suit and matching her across the table. “Charlie, I have a favor to ask, of you and your friend,” she states, all business. “Nymphadora, she’s my cousin, I guess,” she tries to explain, the concept of family all muddled in her head.

“No one who knows what’s good for them calls her Nymphadora, they’re just Tonks,” he warns, having experienced first, second, and third hand the extraordinary fury that the usually sociable Hufflepuff can release when prompted by use of her given name. “I can get away with Nym on certain days, but that is after years of careful negotiation and mutual blackmail,” Charlie states while fiddling with his nose ring, finally pulling it down. “Come grab lunch with me and I’ll take you to her after, deal?” he questions, sticking out his hand to her.

Mallyn stares at the pink gas swirling beneath his nose. Her eyes flicker to his for a brief moment then a smirk of her own shifts her lips. “Deal,” she declares, firmly shaking his hand once.


	14. thirteen

Charlie quietly approaches the large oak tree, signaling for Mallyn to stay quiet behind his back with a raise of his index finger. He stops just short of his best friend’s head, her vibrant pink hair fanning out against the lush green grass beneath her. “Tonks, don’t be mad,” he says in lieu of an actual greeting.

Tonks stares up at Charlie, trying to comprehend his guilt but being upside down makes it too difficult. She kicks off of the sturdy tree trunk and flips herself over backwards to be upright. “What did you do?” she interrogates as she reclines back against the tree trunk for support. Charlie steps aside, revealing Mallyn. Tonks laughs wildly, clapping her hands. “Oh, you brought one of your little pets, a gremlin, is it?” she teases, reaching out and swatting at the ends of Mallyn’s hair, “Better be careful bringing her out here, supposed to keep these things away from bright lights, let me guess you’ve already fed her after midnight and tossed her into the lake as well, wanting to wreak havoc on the school.”

Charlie catches their wrist, stopping her and forcing their attention to him. “She’s your cousin,” he tells her, hoping she can see the desperation in his eyes. Tonks’ eyes shift back and forth from her best friend to the silent girl, settling on Charlie’s hand, still encasing their wrist in his grip. He releases it, but stands his ground. “Halfblood with a Muggle father and in Slytherin,” he states.

Tonks leans forward, tilting her head to the side, accessing the scared girl. “Oh, you poor little gremlin,” she coos at Mallyn, as if she truly were a creature rather than a Witch. Tonks leans back, her long pink hair shifting to a large blonde bun, cushioning her head from the harsh bark of the tree trunk. “Afraid I can’t help you though, you’re as good as dead,” she remarks.

“Tonks,” Charlie reprimands.

Tonks whips her head to Charlie. “What? You want me to lie to the poor girl? Unless she can magically,” she snorts at her own choice in words, “change her status, she’s fucked.”

“I don’t want to be,” Mallyn murmurs, staring down at Tonks even as her vision blurs as tears build up, but she doesn’t dare let them spill out.

Tonks sits up, “what was that, Gremlin?”

Mallyn squares her shoulders. “I don’t want to be fucked,” she spits, still holding back her tears. “I don’t want to be tripped and locked out of the common room and sneered at, I want to belong,” she declares, shrugging off the hand Charlie places on her shoulder, “or to at least seem I do.”

“Well, you may be a true Slytherin after all, that’s a pretty ambitious ask,” Tonks remarks, ignoring Charlie’s glare.

“I don’t want to be miserable the next seven years all because I got put into a house I didn’t ask to be put in, I asked to be put into Ravenclaw,” Mallyn states, blinking a few times to try and force the tears away, but a few manage to slip out of the corners of her eyes.

“Did you,” Tonks questions, leaning forward and resting her elbows on their knees, “ask to be put into Ravenclaw?”

“The hat knew I had a preference and said it wouldn’t be a good fit,” Mallyn answers, the words still echoing around in her mind even now.

“Did it say anything else?” Charlie asks, looking at the youngest of the three with pure concern, the brown gas beneath his nose making it evident along with the pain in his words.

Mallyn looks up at Charlie, surveying his face. She scoffs, not at him, but at herself for acting this ridiculous where anyone could see her. “It said it saw more of my grandmother in me than my mom, but I never even met her,” she tells him as she looks around for any witnesses while wiping at her teary eyes with the backs of her mittens.

Charlie silently fumes for a minute, expecting his best friend to fill the silence, but she remains silent as well, staring off into space. “Tonks?” he questions, kicking at her bare sole of her foot.

They raise their hand, lifting her index finger. “I’m thinking,” she mumbles, her mind racing as fast as her hair switches colors. Her hair settles on a shade of orange Mallyn has only ever seen in sunsets before. “Belvina, right?” Tonks exclaims, pushing herself back to rest against the tree trunk, “She’s still on the family tree, at least she was when my mom was our age but that was-Kellan!” Tonks reaches up and grabs Mallyn’s hand, tugging her down to the ground in front of her. “Kellan Black, he’s in your house, year above you, he’s Halfblood, less than really, his dad was a Squib, won’t ever admit it,” Tonks rambles, “but dear old daddy got with a Muggle after being exiled from the family and made him, but he was raised by his Aunt Cassiopeia, he’d have a better idea if your grandma was still on the tapestry,” she states, Mallyn’s hands turning white under Tonks' crushing grip.

Charlie drops down onto the empty patch of grass beside them, carefully prying Mallyn’s hands out of Tonks’ hands. “That matters why?” Charlie questions, keeping Tonks’ hands in his.

Tonks squeezes Charlie’s hand, smiling widely, her dark eyes shining almost as much as her flaming hair. “Because my dear idiot, the Sorting Hat knows something we don’t, always does, but at least this time it gave a hint,” she states, her energy practically thrumming off of her. She tears her attention away from Charlie and redirects it to Mallyn. “You want to figure out why you got put in Slytherin, why the hat thinks you belong there, you need to figure out why your grandmother was.” Tonks’ attention drifts for a moment, her hair shifting to their house’s shade of yellow before returning to its default of hot pink with a shake of her head. “But your guess is as good as mine,” she shrugs, flopping back against the tree and dragging her hands over the short blades of grass, the stiff strands tickling her skin. “It’d be easier to start with the living,” she suggests, mentally going through the glossary of Black family members in her head. “You have another cousin of sorts, Lynx Burke, I knew her, vaguely, Lynx, uh, spent a little too much time with her grandfather, your uncle, if you know what I mean,” Tonks rambles, laughing in between words, “she graduated in June.” 

Mallyn leans forward, finally realizing how overblown Tonks’ pupils are. She leans back in awe and horror. “You’re high,” she gasps.

“As a kite,” Tonks laughs, twirling her finger and sending a smoke silhouette of a kite soaring up into the air. Tonks sighs as she lets their head fall back against the tree trunk, but her eyes stay on Mallyn. “But doesn’t change what I said,” they murmur. Mallyn scoots over, allowing Tonks the room to stretch her legs out between herself and Charlie. “If anything, I think more clearly this way,” she assures Mallyn. Tonks sticks her hand deep into the pocket of her jeans, fingers wiggling around in the bottomless space. She withdraws her hand, holding out three gummy bears in the palm of their right hand. “Want one?” they questions, using her thumb to push the blue one to the edge of her index finger.

“Don’t corrupt the youth,” Charlie teases, reaching out and twirling a strand of their pink hair around his index finger while grabbing the red gummy bear from Tonks and popping it in his mouth.

“You make it sound like I’m trying to give a baby cocaine,” Tonks murmurs, pulling at Charlie’s hair, the strand of fire like hair bouncing back into a perfect coil as soon as she lets go. “She’s no younger than I was,” Tonks states, popping the yellow gummy bear into her mouth and savoring the sweetness, designed exactly to their liking, “and don’t get all judgey, as if this wasn’t the reason we became friends in the first place.”

“Charlie!” Mallyn mocking scolds, slapping at his arm, “What would your mother say?”

Charlie flops backwards and rests his feet against the tree trunk, watching the clouds move, his mind finding patterns in the shapeless blobs. “Oh, wouldn’t say anything, not for a while, would definitely skin me alive though, especially after finding out why her zucchini never grows right,” he laughs. He rolls his head, laughing at Mallyn’s expression. “Where else was I supposed to grow it?” he questions. He watches as her eyes flicker from him to the remaining gummy bear. He taps her leg with his knuckles, rapping out a three beat tune. “You can take it if you want, this strand is her own personal creation, relaxes you while opening your mind to possibilities, no nasty side effects,” he tells her. 

Deciding nothing else could make things worse, she plucks the blue gummy bear from Tonks’ finger and carefully places it on her tongue, already suspicious of Wizarding candy. Surprisingly, the gummy bear is just the right amount of sweetness with a hint of spice, she savors it for another second before she swallows. 

Tonks watches with pride as Mallyn’s face shifts as the effects quickly wash over her. “Great, isn’t it? No wait time, and the flavor is exactly what you crave every single time,” she sighs. Tonks shifts, lacing her fingers with Charlie and Mallyn before pulling her down to lay on the soft grass with them. “I see a Hippogriff,” Tonks states, pointing to the sky, dragging their hands along. Mallyn and Charlie follow her line of sight, laughing at the singular cloud. It quickly shifts to look like a Hippogriff under the mere whisper of a suggestion.

“And that one’s a unicorn,” Mallyn says, watching as the one next it soars across the sky, its horn cutting through the sky. A thrumming in her ears draws her attention away from the clouds, watching as a dragonfly hovers next to her, it’s wings moving so fast they’re not visible. If she didn’t know better, she’d think it was watching her. As quickly as it had appeared, it disappears, flying off into the air and she’s left thinking about the dragonfly that had landed in her hair on the day her mother took her to Diagon Alley, her mother mentioning it was good luck.

“How you liking Hogwarts now?” Tonks questions, bumping her elbow into Mallyn’s side, giggles erupting out of the young girl.

“Definitely better,” Mallyn giggles. She drags her free hand over the grass, enjoying the slight tickling sensation that seeps past her skin and goes right to her bones.

Charlie shoots up, inadvertently pulling Tonks with him. “I have a brilliant idea,” he declares as he untangles his hand from hers. He stands up, brushing off his hands on his pants. “I’m gonna go spy on the other teams,” he whispers, looking around for any eavesdroppers. He takes off in a full run, sprinting across the courtyard with his eyes on the Quidditch pitch in the distance.

“Boys and their sports,” Tonks chuckles as she repositions herself so that her head is next to Mallyn’s. 

“What’s the family like?” Mallyn questions, turning every which way, but remains unable to see Tonks through her mess of hair.

Tonks pushes around her dark strands, allowing her to see one of Mallyn’s eyes and the tip of her nose. She boops the end of Mallyn’s nose, imagining it honking like a clown’s. “First of all, they’re not family, family is what you make of it, not blood,” she states, watching as Mallyn blinks slowly, “if it was practically the entire school would be related, especially if you believe the Pureblood propaganda,” she says, laughing at the joke Mallyn isn’t in on yet. Mallyn pushes up, resting on her elbows, her dark hair coming down from her head like a curtain, blocking her off from the rest of the world except for the wood of the tree trunk in front of her. Tonks drags her fingers through it, watching as it ripples beneath the touch. “They think all English Purebloods all stemmed from one wizard, ridiculous, right?” Tonks murmurs as she continues to drag her middle finger back and forth against Mallyn’s thick wall of dark brown hair. 

Mallyn turns just enough to see Tonks, watching as her finger drops from her hair to trace indiscriminate patterns on the sliver of her bare arm between the cuff of her jumper and her mitten. “What about Halfbloods and Muggleborns?” she questions.

“Thinks we steal it from proper Witches and Wizards, blames us for Squibs,” they mumble, her finger dropping from Mallyn’s arm to the ground. She pinches singular blades of grass between her fingers and plucks them before letting the wind carry them away.

“Squibs?” Mallyn questions, frowning at the foreign word.

“People born into magic families without magic,” Tonks answers as she pushes herself up. She stands still for a moment before reaching for the lowest branch and pulls themself up, swinging from the sturdy branch.

Mallyn flops over onto her back, watching as Tonks pulls herself up higher onto the branch, her legs swinging over either side. “Wait, what’s the difference between Muggles and Squibs then?” she questions, “Like what if it’s a magical family and something happens that only one gets power, like those in Muggleborn families, how do they tell? Like okay, if both parents were adopted so they don’t know their birth families who could be wizards, get married, have kids, and all but one are ‘Muggles’ when in reality a Wizard was the odd one out of a family of Squibs,” Mallyn rambles, her mind opening to new possibilities. She stands up, pacing in circles as she tries to comprehend her own thoughts. She suddenly wishes she had brought her journal with her, but it’s safely locked up in her room.

Tonks swings herself back over the branch, her legs supporting her weight as she hangs upside down. “You’re hurting my head,” she claims, her forehead growing twice it’s normal size, “see look what you did to it.” 

Mallyn reaches out, touching the new skin on Tonks’ face. “How do you do that?” she questions, dragging her finger down over the curve of their nose, pausing on her lips before dropping off after her chin.

“I’m a Metamorphmagus,” Tonks tells her, commanding her features to shift. Her nose grows long and pointed as her eyes shrink to the size of a pennies, gaining the reaction she was aiming for; a single laugh of amusement from Mallyn.

“Oh, we talked about that first day in DADA, the difference between it and Animagus, Animagi, Animaguses?” she questions, frowning as she tries to figure out which sounds right. She tilts her head, looking at Tonks’ face as it reassumes its natural form. “Can you shift into an animal or just change your features?”

“Only features, but I can do this,” Tonks answers, concentrating to shift her nose into a pig’s snout, oinking once. Mallyn falls down to the ground from the force of her laugh. Tonks drops from the tree, her feet landing next to Mallyn’s head. “Fancy a walk?” she asks, holding out their hand to Mallyn. The first year accepts, offering Tonks her hand to help pull her upright. Tonks uses the leverage to pull Mallyn onto her back, holding on tightly to the underside of her thighs as she spins them around in circles, stopping before she can get too dizzy. Tonks lets Mallyn slide down off their back, her legs wobbling slightly but she remains upright. The two walk toward the school, giggling at every misstep. 

“Do you know anything about the list?” Mallyn asks, sighing as she finally catches her breath, resting her back against the stone exterior of the school.

Tonks scoffs, “Other than it’s complete bullshit?” Tonks shakes her head, her hair shifting to a short buzzcut the hue of her natural brown hair. “It left off families right and left over petty disputes,” she mutters as the two approach the school. “The Potters were left off for having the audacity to call out the Ministry for not helping Muggles during the First World War, yet the Weasleys are on there and you see what people think of them, how they treat them.” Tonks leads the way, winding down the path to the side of the building, her hand grazing the wall as they go. “That’s not even mentioning the Tufts, the Diggorys, the Boots, the Clearwaters, the Wilkes, although most of them are in the States now, or the fact that the Ollivanders will be extinct soon since he’s never had any kids, the Gaunts wiped themselves and any blood claim to Salazar Slytherin off the face of the Earth by refusing to marry outside the family, that last Shafiq fled to the most Eastern corner of the continent over a dispute over their false claim to Salazar, which the Blacks can’t even claim heritage with Salazar because they’re only connected to him through marriage, not blood and at that, the only reason the Blacks are Purebloods is because they’ve burnt a lot of branches off their family tree, literally,” she says, her hair growing brighter and wilder with each word. She stops abruptly, spinning to face Mallyn, her eyes now practically flaming with her anger. “The tapestry I mentioned, there’s one in every proper Black household, but anytime someone strays, they fire away,” she scoffs, and in one swift move, Tonks retrieves their wand, points it at the stone wall and fires one bolt of fire at it, singed black ash radiates outwards from the tip of her wand, nearly covering the beige coloring of the stone entirely.

Mallyn takes a step back from Tonks, but doesn’t back down, “Makes a lot more sense, I couldn’t figure out how they determined the Pureblood families, as far as I could tell, there’s no distinct Abbott, Avery, or Fawley tree, they’re just in everyone else’s, like how the Flint family just pops up here and there,” she rants, watching as Tonks places her wand back in her pocket, her hair slowly fading back to brown. “Granted, I have a lot more books to go through but,” Mallyn mumbles, trailing behind Tonks.

Tonks turns to look at Mallyn over their shoulder, offering her a small smile as the high from her gummy bear fades. “Don’t waste your time, there’s plenty more fascinating things to study in that dusty library than family history,” she remarks, remembering her own first year well, especially the hours she had sealed herself away with the endless rows of books.

Mallyn stops, standing with her back to the school, “But I don’t know any of mine,” she mumbles.

Tonks sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, a habit picked up from too many hours spent around Charlie. She lowers her hand and looks at Mallyn. “And I wish I didn’t know mine and you’ll drive yourself mad trying to make sense of what they have insured won’t,” she warns before diving her hand into her pocket, searching for the remaining gummy bear she knows is somewhere in the depths. She removes her hand victoriously, tossing the single candy into her mouth in one fluid motion, not bothering to chew it.

“What does that mean?” Mallyn asks, frowning at the cryptic statement.

Tonks just shakes her head and throws her arm around Mallyn’s shoulders, pulling her along with her. “Have fun, I mean, when’s the last time you saw the sun?” she teases, poking her cheek. Mallyn shrugs her off and readjusts her jumper. “Have you even been out to see the grounds before today?” Tonks questions, sweeping their arms out as if to show off the entirety of Hogwarts.

Mallyn scoffs, “You mean the lake with the aquatic creatures that want to kill me or the forest with terrestrial creatures that want to kill me or the bleachers that I almost died falling from?”

“My dear, Gremlin,” Tonks says, placing her palms on Mallyn’s cheeks, “that’s the fun.” Tonks lowers her hands, bopping Mallyn’s nose once before completely retracting their hand. She frowns at the serious look on the girl’s face. “You’re not going to let it go, are you?” she sighs.

“No,” Mallyn confirms, standing her ground both literally and metaphorically.

“Eh, I wouldn’t either,” Tonks admits. “Afraid this is where I leave you, my bed is calling my name,” she announces, continuing their previous path and heading towards the closest set of doors. She spares Mallyn a look over her shoulder, her heart sinking at the blank expression on her face. “Chin up, little Gremlin, you aren’t alone,” she calls, smiling widely at the girl.

Mallyn watches as Tonks’ figure retreats further into the distance, her hands coming to rest on her back belt loops, realizing she still has one important task to do before she can return to the library. “How do I use an owl to send a letter?” she calls after her.

Tonks stops, turning back to face Mallyn. “Got the letter on you?” she calls. Mallyn nods, hoping she can see it. “Come on, I’ll take you up to the Owlery real quick,” Tonks says, waving Mallyn forward. Mallyn jogs to catch up with her, following her into the building. Tonks tears through the corridors, telling jokes the entire time, only stopping when she hears a humorless laugh from the top of the staircase.

“Frog in your throat, Snyde?” Tonks questions, crossing her arms over their chest. Mallyn instinctively steps to the side a little, hovering halfway behind Tonks.

Merula descends the stairs, her violet eyes staring daggers at the pair. Her heavy Irish accent saturates her words to the point they’re almost unintelligible, but the look of disgust on her face gets the point across well enough on its own, “Two disgraces to the Black name, starting a little club? Should make sure to invite Kellan and all those little gingers you’re so fond of, fucking filthy little mutts.”

Tonks laughs, not a real one, but a short and bitter one. “Yeah, actually we are, calling it the Black Sheep Club, clever little name my cousin Sirius came up with,” they remark, savoring how Merula’s face shifts. Tonks’ head tilts, “You knew him, right?” Tonks questions. Merula’s glare intensifies, hating any reminder of her parents’ fates. She brushes past Tonks, pushing her shoulder into theirs. Tonks shakes her head, her hair accidently hitting Mallyn in the face from how close she’s standing. Tonks looks down at her over her shoulder. “Ignore her, nothing but a stuck up bully, thinks she’s the universe's gift to Wizarding World, fucking declared so first day of first year.”

“She’s a Slytherin,” Mallyn says, swallowing hard as she watches Merula walk down the hallway and goes out of her way to push a kid into the wall, laughing as she does so.

“Yeah, but so are you, so they can’t all be bad,” Tonks promises, offering Mallyn a smile. They follow her glare, watching until Merula turns the corner. “She just definitely is, I mean, truly, yikes,” she remarks. Tonks moves onto the next step, continuing up the seemingly never ending staircase.

Mallyn quickly follows after her, “Who’s Sirius, does he go here?” she questions.

“Used to, graduated way back,” Tonks answers, her sentences and tone unusually short.

“Oh, well, even if it’s just the two of us, I’ll happily be a part of it, the club, be nice to have a proper excuse to not hide in my room,” Mallyn says, hoping to ease some of the tension.

“I’ll make the shirts,” Tonks remarks.

“I’ll bring the snacks,” Mallyn counters.

Tonks lets out a little laugh, but turns to look at Mallyn. “Maybe we should switch, I can guarantee my snacks are far superior,” she teases. Tonks pauses at the top of the staircase and pushes the single door on the platform open, looking up the staircase it reveals. “Up we go,” she declares, knocking her shoulder into Mallyn’s. They share a single glance before they both take off, racing up the spiral flight of narrow stone stairs, less than one eighth of the width of any of the staircases within the castle walls. They stop at the very top, the wind whipping their hair around. Tonks pushes on the heavy wooden door, the sound of a hundred screeches and hoots greeting them. They both step far enough in to be free of the cold wind. Mallyn turns in circles, taking in the room of owls and a few other birds. “Okay, letter?” Tonks questions. Mallyn reaches around and pulls the letter out of her back pocket and hands it over to Tonks. “Good handwriting,” they remark, surveying the neat print on the outside of the letter depicting Mallyn’s home address and her mother’s chosen name. “Usually best to send after dinner, they prefer to fly at night,” Tonks tells Mallyn as she leads her over to the far wall of the Owlery where all the school owls typically reside, “so you pick one, these are all school property, state the person’s name and they’ll do the rest, address isn’t even needed, but recommended because every now and then they can drop them and Muggles can help get them where they need to go from there.” 

Mallyn looks at the owls, trying to pick one from the bunch. “Thanks, I think I’m good from here,” she tells Tonks, but her focus is on making the right selection.

“Sure?” Tonks questions. Mallyn nods, her eyes shifting between two owls, one small enough to fit in the palm of her hand with feathers the color of the lightest of night skies or a slightly larger one who looks like it belongs in the desert with the mixture of the shades that make up sand spread over its entire body, either of which will look odd flying into the middle of London. Tonks heads for the door, her hand resting on the doorknob. “Hey, you need anything, don’t be shy, Hufflepuff door is always open and when in doubt, look for a redhead, they’re always proven to be a safe haven in my experience,” she offers before ducking out of the open door. Her left foot lands on the second to top step when she freezes and turns around. She sticks her head back in the door, “Oh and just leave a sickle in the jar or you can wait for end of month and they’ll send you a nice little note asking for their money.” Tonks continues down the stairs, taking it slower than when they had come up, stairs usually proving difficult for her usual clumsiness. Halfway down the stairs, Tonks passes Kelsey heading up to the Owlery, and she’s at the bottom before she remembers what she would’ve otherwise forgotten. “Oi! Paxton, you still owe me a Knut!” she calls up the stairs, the wind carrying her words up to the top and through the open door for Mallyn to hear.

Kelsey looks over the edge of the staircase, spotting Tonks’ pink hair at the bottom. “All you had to do was ask,” she calls down. She reaches into her purse and withdraws a single coin, flinging the coin down into Tonks’ open hand. Kelsey walks into the Owlery, closing the door behind her to try and seal out some of the nipping wind. She smiles widely when she spots Mallyn. “Hey, heard you think you can fly,” Kelsey teases, poking at Mallyn’s shoulder.

“I didn’t,” Mallyn starts to defend, wondering when talk of her accident will die down.

Kelsey shakes her head, her two intricate braids falling forward over her shoulders. “Only teasing,” she promises, squeezing Mallyn’s shoulder but her face remains solemn and unmoving. “You okay?” she questions. Mallyn opens her mouth to speak but thinks twice, her mouth stuck in an odd in-between state of neither fully closed or open. “What?” Kelsey questions as her brows knit together, a few light creases appearing in the empty space between them.

“I was locked out last night,” Mallyn admits, pulling her bottom lip under her teeth and gnawing at the already dry skin.

Kelsey scoffs, her tongue probing the inside of her cheek. “Those bastards,” she states, knowing exactly who would be willing but also capable of managing that, “I’m gonna put their rotten excuses of potions in their pumpkin juice,” she threatens, other equally horrible ideas swirling around in her mind.

Mallyn’s face drops. “Please don’t, I don’t want any more reason for them to,” she pleads, her mind imagining what other punishments they could come up with in retaliation. 

“Oh, trust me, I’ve got my own reasons,” Kelsey assures her.

“You and?” Mallyn questions.

Kelsey’s attention snaps back to Mallyn, her face contorting in disgust. “Oh God, no, none of them, you’re going to make me vomit, no,” she declares, “I’m sick of their bullshit.”

Mallyn waits for a sign that the gears within Kelsey’s mind are finally slowing down, she doesn’t expect they ever truly stop. “How do you know Tonks?” she questions.

Kelsey’s face drops, losing any sign of humor or good will. “How do you?” she questions, her eyebrow darting up to punctuate her point. Instantly, Mallyn regrets opening her mouth and potentially ruining the one budding friendship between herself and someone in her house. Kelsey laughs, her hand coming up to cover her lips before lowering it to Mallyn’s shoulder and offering her a reassuring squeeze. “I’m kidding, you need to lighten up,” she promises, shaking her head at the first year. “My boyfriend’s in her house and she has the best treats in or off campus,” Kelsey tells her, laughing when a small smile tugs at Mallyn’s lips. “Ah, you tried one, didn’t you?” she teases, poking Mallyn’s reddening cheeks. “I keep trying to get her to tell me how she gets the candy to taste perfect for every person, but just won’t spill,” she tells Mallyn. Kelsey looks down, noticing the envelope in Mallyn’s tight grip. “Got some letters to send?”

“Yeah, was just about to send it off,” Mallyn answers, looking at the little owl on the top row, the sky quickly fading to match its feathers.

“Here, use my owl,” Kelsey offers, reaching up and offering her hand out to an owl next to the little one she had been eyeing. Kelsey retracts her hand, her little brown owl sitting happily on her wrist. “This is Taz, she is just the best, aren’t you, baby?” she coos, scratching under the owl’s beak, the creature leaning into the affection. “You have a pet?” she questions while continuing to pet the little creature, it’s large blue eyes taking up the top half of its face, it’s rather oversized beak taking up the other.

“No,” Mallyn answers, lightly shaking her head.

Kelsey shrugs, “maybe later, by seventh year almost everyone has one or the other during their time here,” she says. Mallyn hands over her letter and watches as Kelsey ties the envelope to Taz’s leg before tapping the owl on her back. The little brown owl takes off into the night, heading straight for London. Kelsey drops her hand onto Mallyn’s shoulder. “Come on, bonding night,” she announces, lightly tugging on Mallyn’s sweater. “Oh, don’t look so scared, I said bonding, not bondage, that’s every third Saturday,” she says, laughing at the scared expression on the young girl’s face. “I’m kidding,” she promises, but Mallyn’s heartbeat remains erratic, never sure what’s next out of the fourth year’s mouth. Kelsey sets her other hand on Mallyn’s other shoulder, directing her out the door, lightly massaging her shoulders as they move. “Merlin, you are tense,” she grumbles, pressing hard into a knot on Mallyn’s back as they start their descent down the spiral staircase, “spa night came at just the right time, you definitely need it.”

  
  


Everyday for the next three weeks, Mallyn climbs up to the top of the Owlery and sends letters home. None arrive for her until her birthday. 


	15. fourteen

Fred slides up to the front of the room, leaning on the half empty table. “Hey, Lucy, was Mallyn up when you left?” he questions, messing around with the cauldron in front of him. Lucy’s eyes shift nervously, searching for any sign of their potions professor. “What?” Fred questions, leaning closer.

“She’s not going to come out of the room, told me so herself,” she whispers, her eyes still scanning the room. “It’s her birthday,” Lucy explains, “her mum wrote to her and didn’t answer a single question, didn’t even mention all her letters,” Lucy whispers, her eyes still scanning the room for the first sign of Professor Snape leaving his office, but he emerges from the back of the classroom and silently moves forward. “The letter is now burning in our fireplace along with,” she tells him, stopping as a shadow falls over the desk. 

“Professor,” Fred greets without looking up.

“Changing seats, Mr. Weasley?” Severus questions, his finger tapping his arm as he waits for an answer.

Fred stands up, squaring his shoulders as he looks up at Severus. “No, sir, just was asking Miss Cresent a question,” he answers.

“Can I be of any help?” he questions, cocking his eyebrow.

“Afraid not, sir,” Fred remarks, clicking his tongue once. 

“Then it has no business being asked in my class,” Severus declares, his index finger jutting out from beneath his cloak, silently commanding Fred back to his seat.

Fred slinks back to his seat, already formulating a plan. Completely ignoring the lesson, he jots a note onto a slip of parchment then with a wave of his hand he sends it to the table behind him. He turns his body just enough to catch George and Lee’s nods. 

The second Professor Snape dismisses the class, the three take off for the opposite side of the dungeons, stopping just in front of the blank stone wall where they know the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room lies.

Fred steps forward, pointing his wand at the wall. “Pureblood,” he states, rolling his eyes. He waits for the door to open but the wall remains the same. “Why isn’t this working?” he questions, poking the wall with the tip of his wand.

“Maybe they changed the passwords,” George offers up. 

“Try it in Latin?” Lee suggests. 

“Don’t bother,” Ayers calls from down the hall. He pushes off the wall and walks towards the three first years. All three immediately recognize him as one the Beaters on the Slytherin Quidditch team, the surprisingly less aggressive of the two, at least from what they’ve observed under Charlie’s ask of them spying on the practices. Ayers stops in front of them, purposefully looking down even though the twins are only half a foot shorter. “You’re not Slytherins, you can say the password as many times as you like, the castle knows your wands, and your blood,” he tells them, cocking his head to the side as he surveys the group. “Weasleys never make it into Slytherin, the colors alone would clash horribly,” he remarks, dragging his index finger across the hair on Fred’s forehead.

Fred remains calm, ignoring the action. “Can you let us in?” he questions, jerking his head back, gesturing to the wall.

“We just want to check on our friend,” Lee elaborates before George can.

Ayers looks over their shoulders at the blank wall. “The one sobbing in her room, I assume?” 

“That would be the one,” Fred answers, the idea of her being this upset creating a gnawing pit in the center of his stomach.

Ayers tilts his head back and forth as if he’s considering but he turns away, “Pity I don’t care,” he calls over his shoulder as he moves towards the staircase.

“Hey!” all three call after him, but only Fred reaches out and grabs Ayers’ shoulder, pulling him back.

Ayers pushes Fred off, the younger of the two stumbling from the force of a Beater’s impact. “Hey, yourselves,” he states, pushing at Fred’s chest with his index fingers, “you have no business being in our common room, it’s for Slytherins, otherwise the door would let you in,” he states, pushing at Fred’s chest again. Fred stands still, silently daring Ayers to do it again, George and Lee backing him up. Ayers surveys the group, realizing even he can’t win a physical fight three to one, even if the three are four grades below him. He stalks away, only calling out to them again when he’s on the bottom step of the staircase, “And as far as your little friend goes, leave her be, I’ve found it’s always best to leave crying girls to themselves, at least long enough for them to get it out of their systems,” he remarks before ascending the stairs and disappearing from view.

Fred huffs, turning to face the wall. He brings his open palm up to it, feeling around as if there might be a secret embedded in the stone. 

“We can wait and see if someone else will let us in,” Lee suggests, leaning back against the opposite wall.

“Maybe Charlie can, I mean-” George begins to suggest, rationalizing that Prefects must have ways to get into the other houses’ common rooms in case of emergency. 

Fred shakes his head as he continues to feel along the wall. “If we wake him up now, he will feed us to whatever creature he can get his hands on,” he grumbles.

George falls back to lean against the wall next to Lee. “Maybe he’s right, maybe we should just leave her be for a while, when she’s ready she’ll come out.”

“And if she doesn't?” Lee questions.

“She has to eventually,” Fred states, but turns to look at his brother and friend over his shoulder. “Right?”

“Yeah, yeah, no point in being here if she doesn’t attend classes, otherwise they’d send her home,” George argues, wondering exactly what are expellable offenses for a school that encourages pushing the limits of what is thought to be known.

“That’s worse!” Fred exclaims, hitting the stone once with an open palm. He brings his hand to his chest, cradling the tender flesh against the soft material of his sweater.

Lee pushes off the wall and grabs at Fred’s hand, inspecting it for a moment before slapping it quickly then darting away. He stops at the bottom of the staircase, not far from where Ayers had stood only minutes ago. “Come on, let’s just go to class, that way at least when we come back at lunch, we’ll have the excuse of dropping off her classwork,” Lee states, waving his hands at the twins.

“Brilliant,” George admits, shaking his head with awe in his eyes and smile.

Fred spares one last glance to the stone wall before trailing after Lee and George, each step that he takes from the dungeons tugging at his heart, the thought of her all alone in her bedroom on her birthday not sitting right with him. Birthdays are meant to be happy and fun, full of cake and presents. He sinks into his seat in Charms, resting his chin on his arms as he slumps over the bare table.

Filius enters the classroom last and quietly closes the door behind him, pausing briefly to scan the room. “No Miss Smyth today?” Filius questions, noting the empty seat.

Fred sits up and spins to face the professor. “Afraid she’s feeling ill, Professor,” Fred tells him.

“Oh dear,” he murmurs, his brows knitting together. “Well, I do hope she feels better, she does know Madam Pomfrey is available if she needs her, yes?” Filius says, clutching the bundle in his arms a bit more tightly as Sickleworth struggles to escape his temporary confinement. He never should’ve agreed to watch the sneaky little creature, but at least he seems happily occupied by the collection of coins within the bag with him.

Fred watches suspiciously as the bag continues to move, light squeaks barely audible through the thick cloth. “I’m sure she does, but I will pass on the message, I’m going to collect her assignments and drop them off after class,” Fred says.

“How wonderful of you,” Filius announces with glee, “five points to Gryffindor!” He moves past the desk and up to the front of the room, climbing up onto his podium, all while still holding the bag against his chest. “Now today we will be learning about-,”

Roger raises his hand, almost falling out of his seat as he struggles to get a closer look. “What’s in the bag, Professor?” he questions, readjusting himself to be in the middle of his chair.

Filius looks down at the bag, loosening his grip around the top. “Oh, Professor Rakepick asked me to watch over Sickleworth, although I had to put him in here with some coins, little rascal kept trying to nick my glasses,” he laughs as he peeks into the bag. The small creature is contently curled up, grasping one of the coins between his hands, another poking out of his belly pouch. Filius closes the bag up and carefully ties it off, then levitates the bag over to the cushion in the corner of the room, silently setting up a boundary charm around the edges.

“Where is she?” Roger’s tablemate, Flora, asks.

“Got a lead on one of the Curses, so actually your Defense Against The Dark Arts class is cancelled today, thank you for that reminder, five points to Ravenclaw, I would’ve completely forgotten, the old ticker isn’t what it used to be sometimes, I’m afraid,” he laughs, tapping his wand to his head.

Angelina’s hand shoots up, accidentally hitting George’s ear in the process. She whispers an apology before turning her attention back to the professor. “How old are you, sir?”

“Oh, dear, I’ve made myself seem older than I am,” Filius says, “I am only a young fifty four, which if everyone does not know by now, is not even middle age for most Wizards or Witches.” Filius’ eyes widen as all around the room hands shoot in the air. One by one, he calls on each and every student at least once, answering questions about everything from his own personal history to the school’s, knowing that Binns rarely got to the modern century even when he was alive. On chance, Filius glances at the clock, realizing only a minute remains in the class period. “Oh, dear, I fear we’ve spent the entire class discussing this,” he mutters. The few remaining hands drop, disappointment on the students’ faces. “Oh, well, I say it counts, it was educational after all,” he declares. He waves his hand, the door in the back of the classroom opening at his command. “Have a great day children,” he states. As the students file out, he hops off his podium and goes to check on Sickleworth. He’s now free of the bag, but is making himself a nest out of the pillow. Filius digs around in his pocket, withdrawing a single carrot for the little creature. He drops it onto the pillow. One of Sickleworth’s little hands darts out and firmly grasps the carrot before retreating back into the stuffing, little crunches of content reaching Filius’ ears.

The first years move as a whole to the History of Magic classroom, Fred only sticking with the group because George keeps a tight hand around his elbow. Cuthbert is already lecturing by the time the students arrive, completely oblivious to the lack of an audience. 

“Can we go check on Mallyn?” Fred mouths. 

Lucy nods quickly, her own worry keeping her from being able to truly focus all morning as well.

Professor Binns doesn’t ever notice that the students joined him, let alone that Mallyn is missing, nor does he notice when one by one, Fred, George, Lee, and Lucy slip from the classroom, leaving the entire back row empty when Angelina moves up to sit next to Alicia to fill her in. 

Lucy leads the way down to the dungeons, but only barely as Fred consistently manages to get half a step ahead of her. Standing in front of the blank stone wall, Lucy states the default password, the doorway opening for her. “It’s probably best if you guys wait here, I don’t even know if she’s dressed yet,” she mumbles, glancing unsurely at where her room is. The boys all mumble agreements stepping back from the door but not before peeking around, all of them raising their eyebrows at the gloomy room. 

Lucy crosses the common room and comes to a stop as she stands in front of the wall to the dorm, waiting a minute to see if she can hear anything. “Tace atque abi,” Lucy recites, the doorway opening a second later. She steps into the dark room and blinks a few times as her eyes quickly adjust to the lack of light. She spots a glimpse of dark hair in the mirror before finding Mallyn’s normally expressive eyes matching the vacant expression on her face.

“Mallyn?” she questions as she steps a little closer.

“Who else knows the password?” she remarks, combing her fingers through her hair, trying to untangle the nonexistent knots. Mallyn raises her eyes to meet Lucy’s in the reflection. “Do you need something?”

Lucy teeters back and forth on her heels, the state of Mallyn striking unease into the very deepest parts of her. Mallyn raises an eyebrow, still waiting for an answer. “The boys are outside the common room wanting to see you, they’re worried, we all are,” she tells her, Lucy’s eyes nervously flitting to the open doorway that’s providing the only sliver of light.

Mallyn turns her gaze back to herself and resumes combing through her hair. “I’m fine, and you can report just that to them,” she states.

“Do you want me to bring you back anything from lunch?” Lucy offers, knowing Mallyn doesn't eat breakfast on a normal day, let alone today of all days. 

Mallyn scoffs, her hands dropping to her lap. “A book with the truth with it would be nice if you could scrounge that up,” she remarks, her eyes quickly shutting in regret. “Nevermind,” she whispers, dropping her head into her hands, scratching at her scalp.

Lucy moves towards the door, knowing that Mallyn only wants to be left alone. She hesitates by the doorway, her hand resting on the cool stone. “Hey, Mallyn,” she says, looking at the sorry sight of her roommate on the floor in between their armoires, “I’m sorry.”

Mallyn looks up, offering her a small smile. “Don’t be, you haven’t done anything,” she promises, knowing that Lucy, or anyone else in the vicinity, doesn’t deserve any of her bad mood, they just have the misfortune of being here instead of her mother.

“Happy birthday, by the way,” Lucy murmurs, sparing one last glance before stepping through the doorway.

“Better hurry, don’t want to miss lunch,” Mallyn says as the doorway seals itself. She turns her attention back to the mirror, hating everything she sees, everything she feels. She pushes herself off the ground and forces herself away from the mirror. Mallyn paces around the completely dark room, the fire having gone out over an hour ago. She picks up the pillow at the end of her bed and throws it against the wall, then picks it up again then repeats the process all over again and again until she slumps down on the ground, gripping the strands of shag carpet under her shaking hands. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror and she almost doesn’t recognize herself with her swollen eyes and tear stained cheeks, her bottom lip raw from excessively chewing on it for the past twenty days, ever since she sent the first letter home. She scoffs and pulls her gaze away from the mirror, instead looking at the ashes in the fireplace, all that remains of the letter and the books that had been at the end of her bed when she woke up over four hours ago. She flops backwards, praying that the carpet can somehow soak up some of her anger and sadness and deposit it in the black lake, the merpeople would probably be better suited to deal with them. Mallyn turns her head, looking at the glass and the dark water that lies behind it. She sits up, looking around the room when a glint in the corner draws her attention. She scoots over, sticking her hand under her bed and blindly reaching around. After a few seconds, her fingers touch cool metal. She closes her hand, withdrawing the object with it. She holds it out in front of her, instantly recognizing it as her missing earring that she hadn’t been able to find since last week after coming back from the library late and undressing in the dark. Lost in thought, she accidently presses down on the post, the end digging into the soft skin of her palm. The prick of pain draws her attention. She stares down at the tiny droplet of blood resting in the palm of her hand. Deciding not to let it go to waste, she stands up and walks over to the wall, placing her palm against the stone. The hidden compartment shoots open, her journal and the parchments with the family trees lying within. She’d forgotten they were in there. Mallyn pushes hard on the stone, slamming it shut. An idea, specifically a bad one, pops into her head. She grabs her blanket off her bed and drapes it over her shoulders then walks over to the doorway. It opens for her without a spoken word. 

Mallyn pads down the hall, her blanket loosely hanging off her shoulders. Stopping in front of the last lantern on the left, she raises her hand and knocks on the space below the light, crossing her fingers beneath the cover of her blanket. The door slides up, revealing Jaden Fischer, a seventh year. She rubs at her eyes, smearing the remaining eyeliner leftover from yesterday all around her eyes. “Yes?” she questions, looking down at Mallyn, her eyes barely more than thin slits on her face. She holds her hand up, trying to block out the light from the lantern.

“Jaden?” Mallyn questions. She hesitantly nods, eyeing the younger girl. “Will you pierce my ears?” Mallyn inquires.

“What time is it?” Jaden questions, but steps to the side, allowing Mallyn inside the room only so that the wall will seal itself and block out the harsh enchanted flame. 

She looks around, her eyes scanning the room and taking in the mostly Muggle music and movie posters covering almost every inch of wall, along with the acoustic guitar resting the footboard against the middle bed, the sheets messily thrown back. “Twelve thirty?” Mallyn says, estimating based off of how long it had been since Lucy was gone, but without sunlight, she really has no clue.

“In the morning?” Jaden asks, her eyes widening in panic at the thought she missed an entire day of classes. It may be a Friday, but seventh year isn’t the time to slack off.

“No, no,” Mallyn reassures her, “it’s lunch time.”

“Oh,” Jaden murmurs as her heart rate slowly lowers. She accesses Mallyn, turning her head back and forth with a gentle push of her index finger. “You want your ears pierced?” she questions, noting the small holes already in her lobes. Mallyn nods a few times, smiling truly for the first time today since waking up. Jaden directs her over to her bed, the one farthest from them. Mallyn moves to the end of the bed, sitting gingerly on the edge of the neatly made bed. “So is there a reason for this sudden idea of yours?” Jaden questions as she digs through her desk, searching for her piercing kit she keeps hidden in the back of the smallest drawer. 

“It’s my birthday,” Mallyn answers, her focus on the guitar a few feet from her. She’s always wanted to learn how to play, but between school, piano, and dance, she’s never gotten the chance. 

Jaden stands in front of Mallyn, tilting her head back and forth, surveying her features and mentally taking them into account. “And you decided what, twelve means you’re all grown?” she questions as she drags her finger, or rather her nail, down Mallyn’s face, stopping on a few of her birthmarks before knocking her bent thumb under her chin. 

Mallyn raises her head, looking Jaden in her eyes, now visibly hazel that she’s not half asleep. “No, just that, I’m tired of listening to what others tell me what I can’t do,” she murmurs, watching as Jaden watches her.

“Let me guess, mom? You seem like the type of girl to have mommy issues, maybe daddy issues,” she says, thinking more out loud than making an actual statement.

“I like my dad,” Mallyn defends.

Jaden laughs, resting her hand on Mallyn’s shoulder. “That’s a whole ‘nother type of issue, what twelve year old admits to liking either of her parents,” she mutters, offering Mallyn a small smile to show she’s partly kidding. She sets her kit down next to Mallyn's leg. “What are you thinking?” 

“Can you do one like you did for Erika?” she says, touching the side of her ear where she knows one of Jaden’s roommates, Erika Rake, has a silver hoop that she had seen and overheard about at the spa night a few weeks ago.

“Sure,” Jaden says, shrugging her shoulders. “Need you to spin and put your head here,” she instructs, patting next to her open kit, several needles laying against the black fabric with different styles of earrings next to them. Mallyn turns on the bed, placing her head at the end and looking up at Jaden. “You sure about this?” the older girl questions, needle hovering over the curve of Mallyn’s ear.

“Just do it,” she says, gritting her teeth. She counts down in her head, reminding herself to breathe when the pain comes. Jaden brings the needle down, quickly piercing through the cartilage then quickly pushing the post of the earring through. It’s not as bad as Mallyn thought it would be, just a pinch and a bit of pressure. 

Jaden screws on the back, then leans back to admire the clear gemstone against the curve of Mallyn’s ear. “All set,” Jaden declares, “gotta wait a few weeks though before you can change it to a hoop and can’t sleep on it.” She moves some things around, searching for her compact. She unfolds the small mirror, angling it for Mallyn to see for herself. “Think it suits you,” she hums. 

Mallyn tilts her head, looking at her new piercing for a second before her eyes drop to her empty lobe. “Do you have any more?” Mallyn asks, unable to see the kit.

Jaden nods. “How many more do you want?” she asks, pushing around the remaining earrings. 

“You can decide,” Mallyn murmurs, setting the mirror down.

“Want a tattoo while we’re at it?” she questions, her face dropping when she realizes Mallyn’s actually seriously considering it. “I’m kidding,” she says, shaking her head. “Hold still,” she instructs. Carefully, she punctures two holes above Mallyn’s already existing piercings on either lobe, leaving the needles in for a moment before she goes through and switches them all out for matching studs, creating a gradient of white to black from the top to the bottom, putting the darkest studs in her original holes. As soon as she’s done, she holds up the mirror again and lets it hover in the air, taking pride in the way Mallyn smiles as she takes them in. “Want your nose done?” Jaden asks while Mallyn continues to stare at her reflection, noticing her the redness and puffiness around her eyes has died down.

“No, I made a promise to a friend,” she mumbles. She carefully reaches up and touches the outside of her ears, careful to not touch the actual piercings. “I love them,” she murmurs, turning her head back and forth to get the full effect. Mallyn finally tears her gaze away from the mirror. “Thank you,” she says, already feeling a little bit better even though she knows it’s illogical. Her mother won’t even see them until she goes home for break. Mallyn pushes herself up and spins around, crossing her legs in front of her and watches as Jaden packs up, sending all the needles flying into a jar of antiseptic on her desk. “Can I give you something, I have some coins, still don’t really know,” Mallyn offers.

“No, not money,” Jaden answers. She thinks for a moment before speaking again. “You’re close with the Hufflepuff, right? Get me five of her gummy bears and one brownie and consider us even.”

Mallyn hops off the bed, her blanket still around her. She moves towards the door, hesitating, “Thank you,” she says again, knowing that Jaden didn’t have to answer the door, let alone go along with her request.

“No problem, now if you don’t mind, I gotta get going, class starts in a little bit,” she says, pulling at the elastic band around her forehead. 

Mallyn watches as Jaden frees her hair from the silk shower cap, her dark hair divided into little equal buns all over her scalp. She dips her fingers into a jar on her desk then carefully but quickly, unwinds each one and lets her hair fall freely. “Do you happen to have any hair dye? Or know a spell?” Mallyn questions while she watches her separate each thick coil, creating multiple smaller ones from each.

Jaden chuckles, “And risk damaging four years of growth?” She shakes her head, but pauses as she reaches for her comb. She raises it, pointing the ends of the teeth at Mallyn. “But I do know someone who does,” she says, “if anyone has black hair dye, it’d be Jocelyn Webb.” Mallyn immediately knows exactly who she's talking about and nothing about their short interaction screamed ‘sharing type’. “No color other than black will stick to your hair unless you want to try bleaching it and risk half of it falling out,” Jaden warns. She begins to carefully drag her comb through the roots of her hair. 

Mallyn turns to leave her to finish getting ready, quickly retreating to her room to avoid running into anyone. “Tace atque abi,” Mallyn states, smiling to herself. “Hold thy peace, and go thy way,” she mutters as the doorway opens, remembering all the times the phrase had been directed at her from various nuns at her school, more often than not from Sister Halloway, a woman not much taller than Mallyn but a force to be reckoned with. Mallyn lets the doorway close and waddles over to her bed, careful not to trip over her blanket or the carpet. She plops herself down on the edge of her bed, her feet swinging. “Lights,” she calls out, watching as the chandelier flickers to life, each individual candle holding a small flame. “Timpkins?” she speaks, summoning him.

The house elf appears a moment later, his large hands interlaced together. “Miss Mallyn,” he greets, bowing slightly. He’s careful to keep his eyes on her, to not let them stray.

“Hello,” she returns. “Can I ask a favor?” she questions, looking down at the ever unusual creature as he lightly drags his feet against the plush carpet, unused to any texture other than stone.

Timpkins perks up, shaking his head rapidly as he wrings his hands behind his back. “A favor? No, no, ma’am, no favor, Timpkins is here to help, always,” he insists.

“In that case, may I please have cheese toastie with tomato soup,” Mallyn requests. She rationalizes that she can afford a larger meal than normal, it is her birthday after all, and she has been eating even less than normal due to her constant state of nerves wreaking havoc on her stomach. Timpkins moves slightly, but she raises her hand, drawing his attention back to her. “Oh, and a single slice of cake, vanilla with chocolate chips mixed in, if you can, extra icing,” she asks, offering him a small smile. “It’s my birthday,” she tells him with a shrug of her shoulders.

“Oh, happiest of birthdays to you,” he proclaims, his smile growing to take up the lower half of his face. “I will work most quickly,” he declares before disappearing with a snap. 

“Room, light the fire,” Mallyn mutters as she flops backwards, snuggling into her blanket as the warmth returns both to the room and her.


	16. fifteen

Fred’s leg restlessly rattles against the footrest of his stool as he watches the door. Mallyn hadn’t emerged from her room all weekend and he was starting to worry she was ditching again. He turns in his seat and throws a piece of paper at Lucy, but it freezes midair. Severus summons it towards him, quickly unfurling it in his hands.

“Yes, that is a very good question,” he remarks before burning the parchment, the ashes scattering to the ground. “Miss Cresent, do you happen to know where your roommate is?”

The entire class, including Severus, turns around as the door creaks open, narrowing his eyes at Mallyn’s new appearance more than her almost tardiness. She strolls into the room and sits down, ignoring the stares. The professor moves across the room and stops in front of the second last desk on the right, glaring down at the girl. He dares to question what no one else will. “Change something about your appearance, Miss Smyth?” he drawls. Mallyn rolls her eyes, stopping on him, a snide remark about him needing a change in appearance remaining on the tip of her tongue. “Do you have an explanation for your absence on Friday?” Severus inquires, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Ill,” she states, keeping her focus on him, just like everyone else in the room.

Severus’ gaze narrows even further, “Will Madam Pomfrey be collaborating that?” he questions with a tilt of his head.

“No,” Mallyn simply answers before pulling her textbook out of her bag and setting it on her desk.

“No?” Severus questions, his right index finger restlessly tapping against his forearm, the fabric of his cloak fluttering with the constant movement.

“Not that kind of illness,” she states, flipping open the book.

Severus flips her book close with a cold glare. Mallyn raises her eyes back to him. “And what kind of illness would that be that does not require a visit to the infirmary?”

Mallyn smiles sweetly, “My period, sir,” she answers, watching out of the corner of her eye while Fred’s eyes widen at the admission.

Severus doesn’t take the bait, sensing Mallyn’s desire to see him flinch as many lesser men would. “See Madam Pomfrey, she has a potion for that,” he states, the tips of his fingers still pressing into the cover of her textbook.

“I’ll be just fine without a potion,” Mallyn remarks, leaning back casually as she pulls her right leg up onto the seat of the stool, the charms around her ankle jangling with each movement.

Severus knocks his wand at her leg, forcing her to drop it back down. “If you miss class over something that can be prevented-”

Mallyn pushes herself forward while still remaining in her seat. “I don’t care if you fail me,” she states, glaring back at her professor, “not in this barbaric class of yours, I am not using that potion, nor any other that requires the use of something that was once living, it’s cruel.”

“It is the circle of life,” Severus states, his patience wearing thinner than the sad excuse of tights Mallyn is wearing beneath her socks.

Mallyn scoffs, “No, Professor.” She looks around the classroom, her eyes settling on the ingredients cabinet. “The circle of life is getting born, living a free life, then dying a natural death,” she corrects. “This,” she says, waving her index finger around while maintaining eye contact with Severus, “is keeping creatures in a cage their entire lives until they’re killed for a stupid lesson that just gets thrown out at the end of class.”

“Detention,” he declares, a low growl rumbling in the back of his throat.

“Fine,” Mallyn states.

“Not another word out of you,” Severus announces, turning away.

“Fine,” Mallyn repeats behind his back, twisting her face to mock him.

Severus spins back around, his lips twitching with anger. Mallyn resumes a neutral face. “Another detention and not another single word,” he orders, his eyes threatening to set her on fire with the fury burning behind the dark irises, “and fifty points from Slytherin for being out of uniform.”

Mallyn smiles coyly, a huff of air escaping her nose. “I’m not out of uniform, sir, check the handbook if you’d like,” she states, pulling out the handbook of her bag and flipping it open to her bookmark, “I already did.” Severus snatches the open book off the table, scanning through the passage while Mallyn reiterates the words printed on the page, “All that is required is house tie, which I am wearing,” she states, gesturing to her tie securely holding her hair back in a low ponytail. “Hogwarts approved skirt, which this is,” she remarks, it being the only item on her person that she hasn’t altered since Thursday. Severus sets the book back down on the table and stares at her, waiting for her to finish her list. “Hogwarts approved sweater, which is on my person, knee high white socks and black shoes, all of which I am wearing,” she says, finishing off with a wave of her hand to emphasize her point, “and of course my robe, couldn’t forget that.”

“And then some,” he says as he mentally notes the infractions, ultimately adding up to zero despite the multiple embellishments she’s made to her uniform.

“Yes, well, that isn’t unallowed,” she states with a smile, “sir,” she adds.

“Very well,” he says through his teeth. He turns around, her pages flipping from the force. “Read pages forty seven through sixty four,” he declares before sulking into his office.

“Wow,” Fred chuckles under his breath, not looking to have their professor’s bad mood directed at him. He watches for a minute to confirm he stays in his office. He turns to face her, tapping her shoulder, but she keeps her attention on her book, ignoring all the eyes still on her. “So this is all very interesting,” he says, tugging at the cuffs of her sweater resting against her skirt.

“Hmm,” she simply hums.

Fred’s eyes scan her, taking in all the new additions, from the heavy duty black boots resting on the footrest of the stool to the green striped tights poking out from the sliver between her socks and the hem of her skirt. Mallyn reaches up and tucks her hair behind her ear, both in order to hear anything Fred might whisper and to show off her new piercings. Fred’s eyes skip over her torso, zeroing in on the jewels adorning her ear, especially the one furthest from the other three. “The earrings are really cool, Ginny would love them,” he says, watching how the jewels catch and reflect the little light in the room.

Mallyn finally turns to face him, shifting her body slightly. “Really?” she questions while looking at him over her shoulder. “I can get her some for Christmas, I love earrings, my mom wouldn’t let me get them pierced until I was ten,” Mallyn says, her mood dropping off again as she processes her own words.

Fred finally realizes the method behind Mallyn’s sudden madness. “Our mum technically didn't let Ginny get hers pierced,” he tells her, raising his eyebrows to emphasize his words.

“You didn't,” she gasps, repetitively lightly hitting his arm with both hands.

“She asked us to,” he defends, holding her wrists to keep her from hitting him again.

She spins around awkwardly to face the back table as Fred twists her arms over each other, creating pretzels out of them. “George Weasley,” she accuses in a hushed whisper.

George’s head pops up from the desk, his eyes wide. “What?”

She pinches Fred with the little reach she has, making him drop his grip on her wrists. Using her new freedom of motion, she picks up her stool and scoots over to the table, Fred following behind her. “Tell me you didn’t pierce your little sister’s ears,” she says, leaning over the table to poke George in the chest.

“Of course not,” George defends, feigning offense as he swats her hand away. Mallyn stares at him as she waits for him to drop the act. He shrugs, accepting his ploy has failed. “I did one while Fred did the other,” he admits, sharing a low five with Fred under the table.

“Who did yours?” Lee questions, twirling his finger to get Mallyn to turn her head to show off her piercings.

“A seventh year, Jaden,” she answers while she holds her hair back so George and Lee can get a good look.

“And this took three entire days?” Fred questions as he pulls at her hair to see if her other ear matches.

Mallyn shakes her head, pulling her hair free of Fred’s loose grip and covering both of her ears. “No, the piercings took fifteen minutes, hair took an hour, crying and throwing things took up the other,” she answers, resting her elbows on the table.

“You left out time for sleeping and eating,” George points out.

“Did I?” she muses, holding a section of her hair out in front of her and inspecting the color saturating the strands. She looks up, laughing at the dejecting expressions on all the boys’ faces. “Kidding, don’t worry, I got in an hour of each,” she tells them, their faces dropping further. “Kidding,” she promises, “seriously, I ate and slept this weekend, probably more than I should’ve of.” George narrows his eyes, unsure if he’s able to trust her statement. Mallyn turns away from his stare, shuffling her stool back to it’s proper spot.

Fred joins her, careful to not drag his stool and potentially draw Professor Snape out of his office. “So, can we finally give you your present at lunch or are you going to toss it straight into the fireplace?” Fred teases, poking her arm in rapid succession.

“You guys got me a present?” she questions in awe, tilting her head to try and determine the sincerity.

Fred smiles, “Of course, birthdays aren’t birthdays without presents.”

“Any hints?” she inquires, her mind running wild at the possibilities, excluding the ones she can’t even begin to think of because she doesn’t know they exist yet.

Fred shakes his head, miming closing a zipper over his mouth. Playing along, Mallyn reaches forward and tugs on the imaginary zipper, but Fred pulls his lips in, raising his eyebrows in defiance. Mallyn eyes flit back and forth between his eyes and her fingers still hovering at the corner of his lips. With a light huff, she lowers her hand for a second before darting up to point at his left eye. She moves closer until the tip of her finger is as close to his eye as possible without actually touching it. He blinks, his eyelashes tickling the tip of her finger. She retracts it, her nose scrunching up at the sensation. “I am one of seven children, you can’t really have thought that was going to work,” Fred states, snorting at her attempt.

Mallyn rolls her eyes, “Give me a break, I’m a ballerina, you need someone to make someone question the size of their ankles until they die, I’m your girl,” she declares, “but any other type of mental anguish or mind tricks is not my forte, I just plié,” she says, laughing at her own joke.

Fred’s eyes are wide in horror. “Merlin, ballerina’s are weird,” he exhales. He thinks about it for a second before shaking it from his head almost entirely. “What are ballerinas?”

Mallyn laughs, pushing at his arm, but he just looks at her. “You’re not kidding?” she questions, momentarily forgetting that as many things about the Wizarding World she doesn't know about, there’s an equal amount that those raised in the Wizarding World don't know about the Muggle one. “It’s a type of dance, spinning around on stage in tights and tutus,” she explains as simply as she can.

Before Fred can ask any questions, Severus bursts out of his office, startling all twenty students. He looks around the room, noting that almost every single textbook is closed, except for the ones that never bothered getting them out in the first place. Accessing the room, it seems that only Pomona and Fauna actually bothered to make an attempt at following his instructions, the sting of their first failure in Potions still fresh in their minds. “One announcement that the Headmaster has asked me to share before class is over,” he states, dragging out his words then the silence just to savor the panic hanging in the air. He looks around, letting his eyes settle on Mallyn, his upper lip twitching. “Wednesday is class picture day and everyone will be on their best behavior and look their best in standard uniforms with no deviations from the example here,” he states, flipping his chalkboard over to reveal a sketch of two students in standard uniform with an asterisk in the corner, specifying that no additional attire will be accepted. Severus turns and retreats back to his office, the door slamming shut just as the classroom door flies open.

“There’s no way that was drawn on the board before he went into his office,” Mallyn scoffs as she throws her books back into her bag.

“Oh, definitely,” Fred assures her, nodding as he scrunches up his face.

As she stands up, the twins and Lee take the chance to observe the outfit in its entirety for the first time.

Fred raises his eyebrows just as Mallyn looks up, furrowing her brows. “What?” she questions. Fred drops his eyebrows, shaking his head and taking a step back.

“Nothing, nothing,” Lee says, but laughs through the words and ruins any chance of Mallyn believing him.

“I like it,” she declares, smoothing her skirt then tugging on the sleeves of her sweater to tighten it around her waist. She turns to the only person who hasn’t expressed an opinion on it. “George?” she questions.

George freezes, trying to think. He blinks a few times in an attempt to buy more time. “It’s interesting,” he finally states, smiling at her.

“Interesting,” she scoffs. Mallyn rolls her eyes at the cop-out answer. She moves past the boys and out the door.

Lurking just outside the door, Tonks waits for a sign of black hair then reaches out and wraps her hand around Mallyn’s arm, pulling her to the side. Mallyn turns around ready to fight, her fist and face relaxing when she sees Tonks’ smile. “I thought she was kidding,” Tonks remarks, dragging their free hand through Mallyn’s hair, her nails catching on a few tangles. Tonks gently pulls her hand free, keeping it at her side. “What’d you do,” she questions, “dunk your head into a bucket of paint?”

“Dyed my hair,” Mallyn defends, jokingly pushing her backwards until Tonks’ back hits the wall.

“And then some,” they remark, pushing back her hair to get a glimpse at her new piercings. Tonks boops the end of her nose, jokingly inspecting it for any hidden metal, “I’m surprised your nose is untouched.”

Mallyn shrugs, “Made a promise.”

Tonks tilts their head, surveying Mallyn from the top of her head to the floor, moving back up to settle on the piercing blue eyes peeking out from the smears of black around them. “Care to share what prompted this?” she inquires, swirling her finger then booping her nose again.

“Wanted a change,” Mallyn shrugs. She watches as her classmates filter out of the class and waves her friends ahead, silently promising she’ll catch up with them.

“A change is putting on nail polish or trying a new shade of lipstick, this is,” Tonks remarks, letting her eyes scan the outfit in its entirety again, “awesome,” she snorts, twirling a strand around their finger. Tonks knocks her head to the side then pushes off the wall. Mallyn leads the way, heading towards the Charms classroom. “Please, please, tell me what Snape said,” Tonks says, gripping Mallyn’s arm.

Mallyn links her arm through Tonks’ as they walk in step. “Two detentions, for backtalk,” Mallyn states, dreading whatever Professor Snape will make her do in them.

“Ass,” Tonks mutters, rolling her eyes. “None for the outfit?” they question. It’s definitely not the most outrageous take on the uniform she’s seen in her six years, but usually students wait until at least third year to start trying to push the boundaries of the dress code.

“Hey, Halloween isn’t until end of the month!” Marcus Flint calls from the end of the corridor, his two buddies egging him on, hands shooting out from the huddle to push at his back while Cara laughs alongside them.

“So then why are you dressed as a pompous ass?” Mallyn fires back, moving towards him. Tonks follows closely, ready to intervene.

Flint steps forward but his cronies hang back, watching closely as the distance between Mallyn and him shrinks. “You better watch your mouth around me,” he warns, glaring down at her.

Mallyn scoffs, rolling her eyes at the beast of a boy, from the almost jagged teeth protruding every angle out of his mouth and down to the smell radiating off of him. “I don’t think I will considering you are neither a teacher nor my dead grandmother, although you do smell like the latter,” she remarks. Tonks barks out a laugh, quickly clapping her hand over her mouth.

Peregrine Derrick and Lucian step forward, only stopping when Marcus raises his hand. “I am your better,” he states, glaring at Mallyn, his eyes drifting to Tonks for a second before settling back on Mallyn.

“Why because you’re taller?” she challenges. She scoffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “Just means I can see all your boogies from down here,” she glances at Tonks before turning her full attention back to Flint, “and yikes, I mean you should take care of that otherwise people might start to realize you’re part troll.”

Marcus steps closer, leaving barely an inch of space between them. “Watch your mouth, mutt, I know where you sleep,” he threatens, anger pulling at his upper lip to show off his teeth even more.

“So do I,” she cautions. He turns away quickly, his buddies following after him as he storms out of the castle in search of something to pummel.

Tonks watches as they sulk away, her mouth hanging open. Mallyn turns to look at her over her shoulder. She reaches up and pushes on Tonks’ mouth. Tonks shakes her head then wraps her arm around Mallyn’s shoulders. “You learn fast,” Tonks exclaims, sticking her hand into Mallyn’s hair and ruffling it up.

“Gotta if I want to survive, right?” Mallyn says, smiling up at Tonks as she fixes her hair.

Tonks slows to a stop, firmly placing each of their hands on either of Mallyn’s shoulders. “You are officially my favorite first year,” she declares, shaking her once.

Mallyn loops her arms over Tonks’ and sets her hands on Tonks’ shoulders. “And who was my competition?” Mallyn teases, shaking Tonks once. The two stand there like that for a moment, just basking in the glory of the showdown. Mallyn looks around, realizing now the corridors are entirely empty. Mallyn untangles herself and tugs Tonks down the hallway. “Oh, I need to buy five of your gummy bears and one brownie,” she says as they jog up the staircase.

“For who?” Tonks pesters, poking Mallyn’s side.

Mallyn swats her hands away, walking backwards to keep an eye on Tonks. “Jaden,” she says, trying to think of her last name, realizing she doesn't actually know it. “She’s the one who pierced my ears.”

“Gotcha,” Tonks says. She thinks for a moment, trying to remember what she has to do after classes, coming up blank. “I can get them to her tomorrow and you don’t have to buy them, consider it my birthday gift since I didn’t get you one because I didn’t know it was your birthday,” she declares before shoving Mallyn inside the Charms classroom. Mallyn stumbles backwards and into her seat. “Have fun, learn something, hi, Professor Flitwick!” Tonks calls before darting away and skipping down the hallway.

“Tonks, see you at three,” Professor Flitwick calls after her, laughing at her dramatics.

“Wouldn’t miss it for anything!” she calls from the end of the hallway, her voice carrying remarkably well.

Mallyn adjusts herself on her seat, her bag sliding to the floor. “Apologies, Professor,” she says as she tries to catch her breath.

“Not at all, I am so glad you are back, Miss Smyth, and feeling better I presume?” he says, nodding rapidly at her, his head moving like a figurine.

“Much,” she confirms with a smile. Filius moves away, taking his place at his podium.

Fred leans over, bumping his shoulder into Mallyn’s. “Are you high? Was she high?” he whispers, raising his eyebrows.

“On life,” she states proudly. She looks around, checking for any eavesdroppers. “Stood up to Flint,” she whispers.

“The third year Chaser who looks like a fifth year?” he questions, his mouth dropping open. “Wicked,” he declares, his lips quirking to the side. He looks around then waves her towards him into a huddle. “I need every detail and feel free to embellish,” he whispers, winking.

“Later,” she whispers before leaning back and resting against the back of her chair.

Fred sinks into his chair, wishing she would tell him now. With no other choice, he turns his attention to the front of the class, watching as Professor Flitwick demonstrates the concentration necessary to levitate the empty table next to him. “Everyone else now, stand up and attempt with your own chairs,” he instructs. All twenty students stand up and move to be by their seats, most staring down at the objects anxiously. “Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!” he tells them while helping Kenneth with his technique.

The classroom erupts in various cries of the spell, a few chairs rattling around before settling back on the ground.

“Wingardium Leviosa,” Mallyn declares, frowning at her chair when it remains still. She looks at her hand, practicing the movement a few times before trying again. “Wingardium Leviosa,” she repeats. The chair raises a few inches off the ground, laughing at her success. She holds it steady, letting it hover in the air for a few seconds before carefully lowering it back to the ground.

Fred removes his wand from his cloak, pointing it at his chair. “Wingardium Leviosa,” he says, careful of his pronunciation. His chair rises off the ground, following his command as he points his wand higher and higher. He jerks it to the side, placing it over the table then lowering. With a smirk, he turns his focus to Mallyn’s chair and raises it into the air then moves it to balance on top of his own, creating a tower out of the table and two chairs.

Filius claps, “Well, looks like someone over here has the hang of it,” he declares, accessing the tower. Fred knocks into George and destroys his focus, giving Fred the chance to steal George’s chair and add it to the structure. “Want to try something a bit more challenging, Mr. Weasley?” Professor Flitwick questions. Fred nods, eager to see what he has in store. “Try using the spell on the top two chairs at the same time,” he instructs. Fred stares at the top two, focusing as he mutters the words. The two raise together, acting as one as they rise higher into the air, hovering a foot below the stone ceiling.

“Nice,” George says, patting Fred on the shoulder. Fred turns to look at him over his shoulder, the chairs falling from his spell and heading for the ground.

Filius catches them, carefully lowering them to the ground. “That was wonderful, and a lesson in focus!” he declares, clapping once. “Remember, enunciation, technique, and focus are always key to any spell, any magic, or anything in life really,” he announces before encouraging all the students to try again. “Have a great rest of your Monday, students!” Filius says after every single student manages to levitate their chairs after a little help and encouragement.

Alicia, Angelina, Fred, George, Lee, Lucy, and Mallyn gather their things and flee the classroom, the boys leading the way to their next class.

“History, yay,” Lee mockingly cheers, his face showing his disinterest.

Mallyn scoffs, “I’ll take History with Binns over Potions with Snape every hour of every day for the rest of my life.”

“Definitely gonna be the first class I drop,” Fred declares. He hates the class, well the man teaching it, but despite this, he has the best grade in the class at the moment.

“What elective will you take in its place?” Alicia questions, wondering if she needs to start planning ahead. She’s been so focused on making it through each day in order that beyond wanting to make it onto the Gryffindor Quidditch team, she hasn’t even begun to consider other electives and clubs.

“Oh, definitely, Care of Magical Creatures, heard Kettleburn is insane,” Fred declares, the idea alone sending a thrill throughout him, his mind racing at the potential of working with every creature known to the Wizarding World.

“Isn’t he like a nonelectronic cyborg?” Alicia questions, remembering the stories she overheard from the older students in the common room.

“You mean because of his limbs?” Mallyn questions. She thinks about for a second, her experience with cyborgs limited to an American movie her dad forced the entire family to sit through when it replayed on the television over the summer. “Yeah,” she shrugs after her moment of contemplation.

“What’s a cyborg?” the boys all ask at the same time.

“Half robot, half human life form, they’re in dystopian stories,” Angelina answers, the creatures taking the center role in plenty of her nightmares.

Mallyn steps forward and places herself between Fred and George. “Have Bill and Charlie taught you nothing?” she questions. “Charlie knows who The Smiths are,” she states.

“When they come home mum keeps them busy,” George tells her.

“She does it on purpose so that they can’t teach us new methods,” Fred adds.

“And I quote ‘have enough trouble keeping us alive as is’, end quote,” George explains.

“We spy on her and da when they have their coffee meetings,” Fred tells them.

“We used to spy through their bedroom door,” George adds.

“Never again,” they say together, their mouths upturning in the same way.

All seven first years shiver at the same time, various groans escaping them.

Lee breaks the uncomfortable silence with an even more uncomfortable admission. “I caught my dad with his girlfriend once, couldn’t look her in the eyes again, but they broke up a year later anyway,” he states, shrugging after the words leave his mouth.

“No one else dare share any stories about catching their parents,” Angelina pleads, not wishing to know any more.

Noticing Mallyn shying away from the touchy subject of parents, Fred diverts attention, moving to stand in the doorway, him and George acting as a blockade to the classroom as the others form an uneven circle. “Miss Smyth here has a story, about her, Tonks, and Marcus Flint,” he announces, setting his hand on top of her head. Mallyn pushes off his hand, playfully slapping at his arm until he pulls it out of her reach.

“Did he spit on you? He has a habit of spitting a lot, swear the Quidditch pitch is half his DNA at this point,” Lee says, jokingly sticking his finger in his mouth and gagging. The boys spying on the other Quidditch teams has paid off for Charlie, but left all three of them with more information than they could ever want or need.

“I stood up to him,” Mallyn proclaims.

“And lived to survive?” Lucy questions, having run into the boy herself a few days and left the short interaction never wanting to see the third year again.

“And won,” she answers, cockily raising her eyebrows.

“Welcome students, please sit down,” Cuthbert says, forcing the group to retreat into the classroom and take their seats. Professor Binns sinks into his chair, adjusting the spectacles on his nose to rest on the very edge as he looks down at the open textbook on his desk. “Today I’ll be covering the short life of German Wizard, Emeric the Evil, rumored former master of the rumored cursed Elder Wand, also known as the Deathstick, during the Middle Ages,” he states in the even pitch his voice never seems to raise above or lower below. “Now as I mentioned previously, the Middle Ages, also knowns as the Medieval Ages, were from the year five hundred to the year fifteen hundred, and roughly halfway through, around the year nine hundred, was when the Wizarding community in Europe made the decision to separate from the Muggle world as there was religious and cultural persecution occurring across the continent, and Hogwarts was founded only ninety years after that.” He pauses for a moment, accessing the class for the first time since the first day, noting there are in fact twenty students before returning his gaze to his book, despite knowing the history better than anything after having taught the same lessons since his induction at Hogwarts in eighteen ninety one. “Emeric the Evil, was born in the year eight seventy nine and was killed in the year nine eleven, but in those thirty two years, he wreaked havoc in England, terrorizing and killing Wizards, Witches, and Muggles alike.”

Fred doesn’t stay awake long enough for Mallyn to get the chance to further explain her encounter, his even breathing quickly filling the air around their desk. She looks around him, noticing George, Angelina, and Alicia are fast asleep. She turns and finds Lee in the same state, even Lucy fighting to stay awake. Resigning to the obvious fate, Mallyn rests her head on her arms, not fighting when the first yawn escapes her.

“Only he could make murder sound boring,” Cassius whispers, nudging Adrian with his elbow. Adrian nods in agreement before reaching into his cloak and removing his wand. He points it to the front of the room, whispering under his breath then watching as Professor Binns' textbook hovers off his desk then glides right through him.

No one erupts in laughter since the only people still awake are afraid to ruin the calm of Cuthbert’s monotonous voice and the quiet snoring of their classmates. Cuthbert drones on, eventually lulling himself to sleep.

“Smyth,” an ominous voice harshly whispers. Mallyn looks around the classroom, her eyes widening when she sees Kamala standing outside the open door, waving her over. “Come on,” she urges, keeping her eyes on the lecturing professor, Binns completely oblivious to everything aside of the history he’s spewing in his sleep. Mallyn slides out of her seat, shrugging at Lucy when she catches Mallyn’s eyes. Mallyn slips into the hallway, following after Kamala. She stops a few feet from the door, giving her just enough space to speak without having to worry about her words leaking into the classroom. “Professor Snape has asked me to speak with you, even though this is technically Lila’s territory, but she has Quidditch practice,” Kamala tells Mallyn, but Mallyn knows ask is a stretch; he doesn’t ask, he commands. “Blah, blah, blah, long story short, you are more than welcome to let your cycle run it’s natural course, but it would simply be an inconvenience since nothing can come from it,” she says while digging around in her practically bottomless purse, victoriously removing her lip gloss and applying it in one clean sweep.

“Nothing to come from it?” she mouths, her eyes widening when she realizes exactly what Kamala is referring to. “Oh, I’m not, I don’t want,” Mallyn stutters, barely able to process the insinuation.

Kamala smacks her lips together once, evenly spreading the sticky substance before putting the small tube back in her purse. “No, wouldn’t think so considering you spent all your free time with at least two instead of one,” she states. “Although,” Kamala thinks out loud, pursing her lips. She turns her attention back to Mallyn, her wide blue eyes staring up at Kamala. “You might not be now, but most likely one day you will and as long as you are at Hogwarts, you can’t get pregnant, the castle won’t allow it, there’s enough things to worry about without adding teen pregnancy to the mix,” she states. Mallyn just shakes her head lightly, stilling trying to process everything. Kamala sighs, reaching up and scratching the tip of her nose. “Look, I get your stance, but really, cramps are a bitch and trust me when I say you don’t want to be forced to use the second floor girl’s lavatory, so just take the potion and don’t miss classes at least not until you’re on sturdy enough ground with each and every one of your professors to get away with it,” she tells the younger girl. Still in a daze, Mallyn just blinks slowly. Kamala reaches up and tucks her hair behind her ear, surveying the new piercings adorning Mallyn’s left ear. “My baby did a good job on you,” she remarks before letting the hair fall back down, covering the four gleaming jewels.

“You and Jaden?” she questions in disbelief but her words come out harsher.

“I’m going to ignore that,” Kamala states, watching as Mallyn’s face shifts as she thinks. “What?” she questions, crossing her arms over her chest.

Mallyn looks up at her, shaking her head once, “Nothing, now it just makes sense why her bed was so neat.” She thinks for another moment, remembering all the posters in the room. “Is the guitar yours?”

“It’s certainly not Erika’s and Jaden isn’t allowed to touch it with those nails of hers, among other things,” Kamala remarks. She bites her bottom lip, chewing on the soft skin and tasting the strawberry before quickly releasing it when she processes her words. “Sorry, she’s always reminding me I need to work on my filter.”

“Nothing I haven’t heard before, I went to Catholic school,” Mallyn admits, thinking of the stories she’d overheard in the bathroom, each and every one far more interesting than any of the bland in comparison stories in the magazines she reads whenever her mother drags her along to the small grocer's on the next block. Mallyn doesn't actually mind going, but she just prefers going to the supermarket where at least there’s other things for her to look at besides the produce and new designs on the boxes on shelves.

“Oh, those produce some of my favorite people, there may be hope for you just yet,” Kamala remarks, watching as students start to file out of the classroom behind Mallyn. “Just think about the potion, will you? Madam Pomfrey is totally chill about it, all you have to do is put your name on a list and the potion will be on your nightstand the next week,” she tells her, glancing at her watch, knowing she has five minutes to make it down to the dungeons.

“How does it work, exactly?” Mallyn questions, actually contemplating it. She had mainly declined it just to defy Snape.

“Stops your cycle completely, only have to take it once a month,” Kamala tells her, surprised she’s actually expressing an interest.

“I’ll think about,” Mallyn says honestly, thinking it’d be nice not to ever have to worry about bleeding through another pair of tights, the incident of her first period still haunting her dreams every now and then. Mallyn begins bouncing on the balls of her feet, remembering her incentive to go to the Great Hall for lunch. “Can I go now? I have a birthday present waiting for me.”

“Don’t let me stop you,” Kamala says, waving the younger girl off, “I have to head to class anyway.”

Mallyn stops and turns around. “But it’s lunch,” she objects, frowning at the idea of giving up the one free space in her timetable to take another class.

Kamala shrugs, pushing her purse strap further towards her neck. “I take Advanced Alchemy, Snape only teaches it during lunch,” she explains, checking her watch, noting she now has two minutes left.

“You willingly spend your lunch and another class period with him?” Mallyn questions, emphasizing her second word.

“He’s the best, well only, professor for it,” Kamala tells her. She checks her watch again,

Mallyn finally getting the hint. Mallyn offers her a small wave, Kamala turning and leaving her standing there in the hallway questions the older girl’s sanity. “Have fun, I guess,” Mallyn calls after her. Mallyn turns and heads towards the center of the school, quickly winding her way to the Great Hall.

“There you are!” Fred exclaims as soon as she steps into view. Mallyn moves towards the table and lets him pull her down to sit next to him, wedging her between George and himself and right in front of a present box, complete with messily done paper with little doodles of candles on them. All eyes on her in anticipation.

“Is this going to explode?” she questions, hesitantly reaching out for it. The twins shake their heads. She picks up and holds it in her hands, tilting it back and forth. “Harm me in any way, shape, or form?” she asks as she raises it to her ear and listens carefully.

“I mean, technically if you use anything wrong, it can harm you,” Fred points out. Mallyn rolls her eyes and waits for an actual answer. “No, this is your birthday present from the two of us, plus Charlie, with no bad will on our parts and it will tell you just that,” he states.

Mallyn tears at the fold in the paper, tugging it off in a few moves, leaving a small brown box in her hand. She lifts the lid, revealing a small gold compass but without any writing to indicate direction. “What is it?” she questions, staring down at the small device, a white string hanging through the small metal loop at the top, or maybe the bottom. She turns it every which way, trying to make sense of it.

“‘What is it?’ she says,” Fred teases, bumping his shoulder into her, “can you believe her?”

George brings his thumb and index finger to his chin, jokingly inspecting her with an imaginary magnifying glass. “I think she’s pulling our leg,” he declares, bumping his leg into hers. She looks around the table for help but no one says anything.

Fred picks it out of her hand, displaying it proudly on his open palm, the string hanging off between his thumb and index finger. “It’s obviously a Bad Intentions Compass,” he states, tossing it in the air then catching it just in time to let it hang from his middle finger.

Mallyn reaches up and flicks her temple. “Obviously,” she gasps, playing along. The group murmurs encouragingly, still waiting for a proper explanation.

George snatches it from Fred, placing the string over Mallyn’s head and letting it fall to rest around her neck. “An invention of our own creation,” he states, tapping the glass once.

Mallyn lifts her ponytail to let the string fall beneath it as she looks down at the odd little trinket resting against her shirt. “Of course, how could I be so blind and stupid?” she jokes, poking at the suspicious device. “And what exactly was Charlie’s part of this?” she questions, looking to George for an explanation.

“The wrapping,” Fred states, picking up the wrapping paper off the table. Mallyn grabs it out of his hands and inspects the little doodles before neatly folding it into a little square then she sticks it in the pocket of her shirt.

“He’s the best out of all of us,” George adds.

“That’s sad,” Mallyn remarks, patting both of them on the back, “but thank you, really, I love it,” she says while carefully cradling it in the palm of her hand. The little dial begins to spin, pointing opposite of her.

George leans over to look at the face of the compass, looking up and frowning at Lee, then looking back at the device, unaware of Flint in the courtyard a few yards aware glaring at the group from the other side of the glass. “We got the idea from a Sneakoscope, but made it portable and wearable,” he proudly states.

“Bill helped, he’s great at stuff like that, tinkering, creating, he’ll be a great Curse Breaker, nothing scares him,” Fred says, his words trailing off as he looks over Mallyn’s shoulder. She turns to look but hands come to cover her eyes, blocking her vision of everything besides the dark space in the small space between her eyes and the hands. She reaches up and sets her own over them, trying to push them off, but they remain firm against her face. There’s a few light laughs from the table, giving her a clue. Playing along, she moves her hands around, feeling light scarring along the underside of the left wrist. “Charlie,” she guesses. She sticks her fingers under his palms and pries his hands away, looking up to meet his warm brown eyes.

“Happy late birthday,” he greets, resting his chin on her forehead as he reaches over her to grab a roll. With his other hand he grabs the invention and holds it in his hand, watching as it spins. “See you got your gift,” he remarks as he lets it fall back down to rest against her shirt. “Any other requests?” he asks, taking a bit out of the roll and savoring the sweetness of the honey.

Mallyn tilts her head up, meeting his eyes again. “Your hand in marriage,” she states plainly.

“Absolutely not,” he scoffs. He lifts his chin off of her, sitting down in the empty space to the side of her since George moved to sit on the table, resting his elbows on his knees as he watches the entire conversation with an amused smile. Fred watches, slightly less amused, but silent nonetheless as he takes in the interaction.

Mallyn lifts her hands, pushing on her index finger with the other, “When I’m eighteen-”

Charlie cuts her off and pushes her hands down. “I do not want to hear any of the math you’ve done in that devious little mind,” he laughs.

Mallyn tilts her head, “Is it because you and Tonks are together? I’m sure we could work something out, I’m her favorite first year, told me so herself just hours ago,” she states, managing to keep a straight face the entire time.

“No,” he laughs, taking another bite of the roll.

She thinks for a moment, trying to remember anyone else she’s seen him interacting with, but comes up blank. “You and-” she starts, knowing he’ll cut her off.

“I’m not with anyone,” he tells her while reaching for one of the few remaining pieces of chicken on the table.

“How come?” she questions as he sticks the remaining piece of his roll into his mouth.

Charlie sticks the piece of chicken into his mouth then dusts his fingers off on his pants while contemplating it for a second. “Don’t really care to,” he shrugs, grabbing another roll from the basket.

“Lot more work than it’s worth? That’s what my friend always says,” she tells him, her mind drifting to Oggie.

Charlie frowns, staring at Mallyn. “How old is this friend?” he asks, knowing the words are far too well-informed to be from within the friend group currently at the table, all quietly eating the remaining food on their plates before they have to accept the inevitable fate of returning to classes for the afternoon.

Mallyn thinks for a second, “Hmm, thirty?” she guesses since Oggie doesn’t believe in birthdays, or government, or space, or really anything outside of music and whatever stands directly in front of her.

“Why are you friends with a thirty year old?” Fred questions.

“She runs the music shop ‘round the corner from my apartment, she’s so cool, kinda like you,” she says, her mind wandering to how Oggie is doing. She hadn’t said goodbye before leaving for King’s Cross Station, always rationalizing she had enough time to put it off for the next visit and then suddenly she didn’t have time between deciding what to pack and making sure to spend enough time with Ellie.

The dial spins as a pair of Slytherins pass by, the ever pleasant Merula Snyde with her equally pleasant best friend Ismelda Murk walking side by side. The latter spares a glance at Mallyn over her shoulder, sneering before releasing a single bark. Charlie’s head whips around, glaring at her as the pair walks towards the entrance of the Great Hall.

“What the fuck?” Fred laughs, rolling his eyes at the antics.

Charlie turns his attention to Mallyn, his face tense. “Did they just bark at you?” he demands, all good humor gone. Fred stops laughing when he notices the seriousness on his older brother’s face. He looks back and forth between Mallyn, Charlie, and the girls leaving the room, finally settling on George who knows no more than Fred does.

“Ignore it,” Mallyn whispers, but can’t find it in herself to mean it as she fights back tears, her fists balling up at her side.

“Why are they barking at you?” Lee questions, unsure of what to make of the entire situation.

Mallyn pokes the inside of her cheek with her tongue before taking a deep breath. “Because I’m a mutt and a Halfbreed and every other stupid little insult they want to throw my way,” she says remembering the words Merula had spit at her and Tonks a few weeks ago. “Just ignore it, I do,” she mutters, reaching out and grabbing a roll, stuffing it into her mouth.

Charlie pushes off the bench, stalking after Merula and Ismelda. “Hey,” he calls after them. They turn around, smiling like the cats who got the canary. “If you’re gonna say something, Snyde, say it to our faces,” he shouts, a good ten yards between them. The first years watch anxiously. Fred takes Mallyn’s left hand in his own, stopping her from driving her nail further into her skin as he laces his fingers through hers. George notices and drops back down onto the bench, taking her right hand in his and doing the same. She doesn’t look at either of them, or anyone else for that matter, just keeps her focus on the arrow pointing directly at the pair of girls.

Merula takes the first step, quickly closing the gap between Charlie and herself, Ismelda closely behind. “Gladly,” she states with a smile. Lifting her finger, she singles out Mallyn, pointing at her back, “she is a filthy little mutt.” Mallyn grips the twins’ hands harder, their skin turning pale beneath her grip. Merula’s eyes scan the table, her finger following her gaze and pointing at everyone at the table except for Angelina, “The lot of you are blood traitors, all of your blood is tainted, might as well be a Mudblood,” she sneers her eyes shifting to Angelina. Ismelda breathlessly laughs, rolling her eyes at the terror in the first years’ eyes.

Charlie steps forward, putting him chest to chest with Merula. “And you belong in Azkaban right alongside your parents,” he snaps.

Merula reaches for her wand beneath her robe, careful of her movements. She leans forward, barely whispering, “And you and all the precious little redheads including mummy and daddy dearest belong graves alongside your uncles.”

“Sure Tulip would love to hear that,” he returns, watching as her jaw tenses at the mention of her Ravenclaw friend.

Merula tightens her grip around the handle of her wand, ready to draw it. “Have to be alive to tell her,” she threatens. Her head whips around at the sound of light footsteps approaching. The unmistakable light chiming of small metal charms colliding against each other makes her forcibly relax her posture and let her hands rest at her sides, plastering on a smile as the Headmaster closes in.

“Children,” Professor Dumbledore greets, clasping his hands tightly in front of him, the tip of his white beard skimming just along the backside of his hand. “Is there a problem?” he questions, surveying the group. The first years all look to Dumbledore except for Mallyn, her eyes still set on the dial. Albus looks at the device, noting its arrow pointing directly at the two sixth year girls.

“None on my side,” Merula remarks, smiling at the Headmaster, her violet eyes sparkling with satisfaction. “Weasley?”

“Just exchanging some words,” Charlie says through his gritted teeth.

“Excellent,” Albus states, bringing his hands together again. “I will see everyone later, I am in search of lemon treacle tart, a rumor reached me that the house elves would be preparing it today,” he says, an entire plate of the dessert appearing on the table a second later. “Ah, always listening,” he remarks as he picks up a single dessert, sharing a knowing glance with Merula. She doesn't waver, just maintains eye contact with a humorless smile. Albus departs from the table, sparing the group of first years a glance before leaving the hall.

Merula turns on her heels. Ismelda follows suit, but Charlie reaches out, wrapping his hand around Ismelda’s arm. “At least I know what it’s like to be loved,” he whispers before releasing his grip. She stumbles forward a step, her glare finding Charlie as she regains her footing. She catches up with Merula, the two whispering under their breath.

“Well, that was fun,” Lee remarks, flinching when both Angelina and Alicia both smack his arms. “Sorry, just trying to, never mind,” he mutters, sinking down in his seat while he chews on a strip of jerky.

“Happy late birthday to me,” Mallyn mutters. Fred tries to squeeze her hand to reassure her everything’s okay now, but she pulls her hand away from his and George’s, fleeing from the table. Lucy shoots off the bench, running after her roommate with her bag in hand. Charlie follows, keeping his distance for a moment watching as Mallyn rounds the corner, resting against the wall and letting her head fall backward to stop the tears. Lucy offers her a tissue from her bag, but Mallyn shakes her head until Lucy raises her compact, showing the drips of black halfway down Mallyn’s cheeks. Mallyn accepts the tissue, quickly wiping away the excess then stowing it in her waistband.

“Mallyn, Lucy,” Charlie says, walking over to them. He looks around, taking a deep breath. He slouches with his arms against his chest, surveying their faces. The remaining unshed tears in Mallyn’s and the concern in Lucy’s makes his heart ache while his hands clench, ready to seek out Merula. “Watch out for them, and Barnaby Lee,” he warns, glancing around. “They’re all,” he says, trying to think of a word other than friendly because he wouldn't use that to describe any of them individually let alone all together, “they talk to each other, even Brandon Heath,” he states.

“Is anyone in our house safe?” Lucy asks, biting at her nail. Mallyn tugs on her wrist, forcing her to stop.

“Kelsey’s a good bet,” he says, Tonks’ having mentioned that Mallyn was already on good terms with her. “Jaden and Kamala, Erika’s brutal on the field, but she’s not-”

“So any Halfblood,” Mallyn sums up for him, rolling her eyes at the notion.

“I’d stay away from Thatcher Cobb, his roommate, plus your cousin, Kellan,” Charlie adds, “Terence Higgs, Seeker for the Slytherin team isn’t half bad most of the time, and Douglas and Lila are Purebloods, but they’re cool, Dumbledore won’t let anyone into that position without the promise they look out for all students.” Charlie loses his train of thought for a moment before regaining it, trying to mentally all the blood statuses of current students, but comes up short. “I’ll have Percy draw up a chart, give it to the twins,” Charlie says knowing that he is the best one for the job. Charlie looks around for a second, knowing that classes start any minute. “You don’t deserve any of the crap they’re throwing, it’s just,” he murmurs, sighing deeply instead of finishing his thought.

“It’s worse because my mom was a Burke and defected by marrying my dad,” she answers for him, having figured out that much for herself. She pushes off the wall, pacing nervously. “I can handle it, I have to, can’t change who I am, but they,” she says, pausing to look at the doorway of the Great Hall, then Charlie and Lucy, “none of you should have to suffer this side effect of being my friends.”

Charlie reaches out and grabs her hand, forcing her to stop and look at him. “Trust me, this isn’t because of that, Merula’s thrown plenty of crap my way over the years, and at Tonks, even Bill, and every other single students she deems below her, which is every single one, even takes aim at Slytherin Purebloods once in a while,” he tells her, squeezing her hand once tightly. Mallyn squeezes back, silently thanking him for his words, and support above all else.

“Why doesn’t Professor Dumbledore do anything?” Lucy questions, picking at her nail beds behind her back.

Charlie wishes he had a solid answer himself, but he really can’t think of a single reason Merula still is allowed to attend Hogwarts other than she hasn’t actually killed anyone, yet. “They’re just words, hearsay,” he tells the two younger girls, repeating the reason Bill gave him years ago when he poised a similar question.

“She threatened to kill you,” Lucy whispers, her eyes shifting around the corridor.

“You heard that?” he questions, blinking in shock. He forces a smile on, “like I said, just words.”


End file.
